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Chapter Text

Now this looks like a job for me so everybody just follow me.
- Without Me, Eminem 

 Morwen considered the comfortable family scene in front of her. The lord of the house sat with his book in his chair near the fire while her mother cataloged the day’s events that hadn’t quite gone to plan. Lady Gwereneth calculated the guests who hadn’t responded to their invitations but had shown up regardless, trying to discover if most of the irresponsible individuals represented the groom’s or the bride’s side. 

Morwen herself had chosen to sit as far from the grate as she could where an unseasonably warm fire licked at the fender to keep her perpetually chilled mother comfortable. Occasionally, she would nod her head in her mother’s direction to show that she listened. Meanwhile, she occupied herself with the sheaves of her father’s almost dearest paper and a set of pencils, sketching caricatures of all the guests in attendance at her brother’s wedding that morning. She glanced down at the paper before her and considered her own view of those events rendered in vivid colors. 

The whole day had proven to be quite diverting, for the most part. Her new sister-in-law had complimented Morwen by asking her to be the maid of honor, which she felt she had executed with distinction. After all, she had planned for all eventualities from wilted flowers to kidnapping. She’d kept an extra long pin hidden in her flowers just in case Tathren had any jealous lovers in the offing. Of course, after the officiant had droned on for the full hour about the purpose of marriage, the traditional roles of the couple, and the expectation that the couple would add considerably to the genealogies, etc. etc. Morwen felt this part of the rite would justifiably put off the most ardent of lovers, let alone the onlookers. 

Morwen recalled beginning to hope someone might come to kidnap the bridesmaids. Only the occasional shared glance of misery with the groom’s side of the tableau had kept her from embarrassing the whole family by falling on her own pin. 

The rest of the festivities had entertained Morwen and paid her out for the dull ceremony. But that had come to an end. Gaeron and Tathren were married and ensconced in an undisclosed inn somewhere until tomorrow when they would take a vessel down river to stay at a vineyard for a few weeks before returning to the family estate in Lossarnach. Some cunning person had devised a way to get rich guests to pay the farm for the dubious honor of stomping on the grapes as a novelty. Of course, as the grapes were as yet flowers on the vine, Gaeron had gotten a reduction on the rate. He had told Morwen that they weren’t going there for the grapes, anyway. Morwen had noted that the flowers would be just as pleasant and that seemed to amuse him in a manner that she didn’t understand. 

The servants came in with fresh candles, the better for Lord Amarthor to read by, but he had begun to nod off. Bobbing for apples, Morwen and her brother used to joke about the way their father would dip forward head first, startle almost awake and then lean back in his chair until another dip. 

Morwen felt a little pang at the loss of her co-conspirator. She couldn’t imagine sharing the jest with her mother, who would think it disrespectful. As her brother’s marriage had been Morwen’s own doing, however, she strove not to have any regrets about quiet nights with parents who didn’t appreciate her playfulness. Gaeron used to joke that it was the result of being the child of their age, a lofty way of expressing that Amarthor and Gwereneth had not expected another child to put in an appearance fifteen years after their first and they had gotten too crotchety by then to deal with her. 

After another steep bob that nearly sent Amarthor out of his chair, his wife sent him to bed before he could cause his neck an injury. Shortly after, a footman announced the presence of an unexpected guest, which made Morwen look up from her sketches with the enthusiasm she could not spare her mother. That enthusiasm, however, sent some of her pencils scattering in several directions. 

Lord Thengel, Gaeron’s best man, strode into the room and bowed to Gwereneth, who had risen to greet him. He had changed out of his wedding attire into a more casual linen tunic and a light surcoat for the drinking to the newlyweds’ health that usually commenced in the city’s taverns the evening following the ceremony. Morwen thought he looked very tidy for someone scheduled to be carousing. 

“I apologize for the lateness of my call,” he said pleasantly. “I see Lord Amarthor has already gone to bed.” 

“You are very welcome, Lord Thengel. I’m sure Morwen would agree if she had any manners.” Her mother gave her a pointed look from across the room. 

Unable to master her pencils and papers fast enough to rise with her mother, Morwen settled for patting the cushion next to her in invitation. 

“What are manners among old friends?” Morwen quipped.   

“Important for keeping them,” her mother retorted. 

“He knows I’m pleased to see him. Don’t you, Thengel?” 

He smiled. “I hope so.” 

Thengel folded himself onto the couch beside Morwen after Lady Gwereneth returned to her chair. He helped Morwen gather her pencils while he exchanged pleasantries with Lady Gwereneth about the wedding and answered questions about health that they all chose to forget had already been given that morning. That settled, Lady Gwereneth picked up her sewing once more and left the young and even younger people to themselves. 

Thengel leaned over Morwen’s shoulder to see her work and made a disapproving face. It would have succeeded as a reproof but for one eyebrow that wouldn’t agree to look stern in her presence. Morwen laughed at it. 

“Is that me?” he asked, pointing to the right side of the scene. “Is my forehead really that large?”

“It has to be,” she replied, handing him the paper, “to hold up that great big crown one day.” 

“You’re mistaking the House of Eorl’s with the crown of Elendil, which is indeed large and unwieldy. In Rohan it’s more of a circlet with a small jewel that rests over the brow.” 

“Oh.” 

Thengel cleared his throat. “And not to put too fine a point on it, Morwen, but my hair is not the color of mustard paste.” 

Morwen studied his hair with a critical eye. “Certainly not in real life. It’s a caricature, Thengel. And if you peek at people’s artwork without permission, you may witness things you don’t like. Besides, that’s me across from you.” 

His eyes traveled from the page to her face. “Your jawline does not resemble a coal shovel.” 

“I know. It’s only there for self-defense in the event that one of the subjects gets ahold of my work,” she said pointedly. “See? Equal treatment. Everyone looks ridiculous.” Her lips curved into a subtle smirk. “I knew you would be sensitive about your hair.” 

“I am not sensitive about my hair.” 

“No? Remind me how you met Gaeron. Did he not accuse you of wearing a woman’s wig made from dried flax?” 

Thengel grinned at the memory. “He learned otherwise.”

“And now you keep it cut so short and brushed back that he doesn’t have anything to pull.”  

Thengel ran his fingers over his hair. “I have also learned a thing or two.” Then he grinned at her. “I noticed in this caricature that you understated the way your ears stick out.” 

Morwen blanched and snatched back the portrait. “You are not very gallant toward me this evening,” she sniffed, “bringing up the one Mortification of my life.” 

“Why would you be mortified by your great uncle’s ears? They made Prince Aglahad look quite venerable, I always thought,” he mused. “Granted, you’ll have to wait for the tufts of hair to come in for the complete look.”

Morwen bit her cheek to keep from laughing. She felt that after two years of not seeing one another, he didn’t deserve the encouragement. Or the right to put her in a good mood. 

“All right, Morwen?” he murmured. “You look like you need to sneeze.” 

Morwen squashed the laughter rising up, but only just. “Fine. I’m only trying to remember why exactly I’ve missed you.” 

“Did you?” 

Morwen decided not to answer. She leaned forward to tuck the portraits away behind her skirts lest her mother notice his interest and come to inspect them herself. Lord Amarthor had not spent a great deal of money on painting masters to have his daughter waste her talent on crude — if astute — sketches. 

“Now that that’s put away, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? We haven’t seen you since you stationed out west and now we get to see you several days in a row,” she rattled. “Shouldn’t you be drinking Gaeron’s health with his other friends?” 

“I have already done so, but, eh,” he said delicately. “I don’t seem to have the same capacity for it anymore. And everyone else had wives and children to get home to. No. I’ve come to console you after your loss instead,” he answered. 

“My loss?” 

He gestured to the cavernous quality of the sitting room. “I thought you would feel low at the emptiness of your home now that your brother is married and gone.” 

Morwen glanced at her the toes of her slippers, then back up at Thengel. “Oh that. Yes, the house is quieter this evening. You are mistaken, however,” she said bravely if not exactly truthful. “Tonight I am celebrating my triumph.” 

His eyebrows rose. “Triumph?” 

“Yes, the triumph of seeing the happiness of my brother upon entering the marriage state — something he certainly would not have achieved on his own without me,” she added dryly. 

“Are you suggesting, Morwen, that his marriage is your doing?” 

“Yes.” 

He smiled. “Don’t you think that a little credit should go to Gaeron and Tathren?” 

“I admit they cooperated beautifully.” 

Thengel shook his head, a rueful sigh escaping him. “I see my services are not required.” He gestured toward the rest of the room. “Here I thought to be a considerate friend; imagining the three of you turning into very dull creatures indeed, and that I could provide the remedy.” 

“Perhaps you came to console yourself?” she laughed, “now that your friends have abandoned you for wives.” 

He grinned self-consciously. “Perhaps.” 

“No fear,” she said, tucking her arm through his, leaning against him the way she had many times as a girl. “Not all of your friends have deserted you.” 

“No?” he asked, looking down at her. “And who would that be?” 

“Me, of course.” 

He smiled at her. “It would be better suited to say that you have not abandoned me yet. Naturally, you will follow the example of your brother.” 

“That’s hardly imminent.” She brightened. “We will make a pact. I won’t marry until you do.” 

Thengel looked at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re willing to wait for that?” 
 
Morwen frowned. “How much longer do you plan to take?” She looked him over critically. “You do not have the luxury of waiting much longer, Thengel. What are you waiting for? I admit it’s something I wondered about this morning while you stood next to Gaeron during the ceremony.” 
 
“The right woman hasn’t come forward.” 

Morwen looked unimpressed. “Oh, is that all? You sound as if you’re waiting for her to do all the work.” She pursed her lips, studying him. 

He watched her watch him. “Are you counting the lines on my face?” 

She squinted. “I am examining your essence.” 

“My…what?” 

“The incorporeal qualities that make you…you.” She waved her hand in a circle to illustrate this.  

“Why would you study that?” He didn’t sound altogether clear on what that was still, despite Morwen’s handwaving. 

“Because I am trying to determine what your right woman might be like.” 

“Is that necessary for you to do?” 

She glowered at his stupidity. “Of course.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I would like to observe you objectively, which is not easy since I have known you my whole life. It takes concentration.” 

“To what purpose?” 

“To understand how other women might perceive you as a lover.” 

He swallowed and looked away. “Oh.” 

“There has to be an element of attraction. Yes, I would say that is definitely a must.” 

She assessed him. As noted in his dress, Thengel had a proclivity for neatness. He was a tall man, though not a match for the men of her family. He had the build of a man who lived by the sword and occasionally by his fists. If he had scars, he didn’t display them like some might. His eyes were a light and piercing blue. She had seen Thengel skewer fools with just a look, but she had also seen them brimming with humor. He had naturally fair skin that darkened considerably during the summer so that she barely noticed a difference between her brother and him except for the color of his hair which tended to bleach almost to white. None would complain about the health of his teeth unless he happened to bite them. But she expected that kind of thing from Gaeron, not Thengel. 

When he had put up with her scrutiny long enough, he asked her, “What is your conclusion?”

Morwen tapped her lips while she considered how best to sum up. “Well, objectively speaking, understand, you seem an excellent specimen. Healthy in body, of sound mind, and still handsome.” 

Thengel’s eyebrows jumped nearly to his hairline. “Still? It’s good to hear that I exude some appeal while so near to death’s door,” he muttered.  

She nodded. “Lucky you.” 

“It must be the blood of Eorl.”

“Wouldn’t that be rather thin by now?” she asked. 

“Not when half of the community are your cousins of varying degrees.” 

Morwen started to reply before the meaning caught up with her. She paused, searching his face for the joke. He only looked mildly earnest. 

“Well, never mind. Wherever you got it from it still does not explain how all of your friends have found wives except you. There has to be an explanation.” She sucked in her bottom lip while she thought. “Perhaps you are purposefully trying to repel women.”  

“Morwen!” her mother gasped. 

A dangerous twinkle shone in his eyes that did not make an impression on Morwen. “Am I repellent?” 

“I am hardly an impartial observer,” she drawled, “but I believe you suffer from want of application. Is it that you don’t wish to marry?” 

“No, but I’ve been occupied….” 

“Occupied.” Morwen tapped her lips again, thinking. “Hmm. That does have a ring of truth. Lord Ecthelion would send you all over the kingdom for years at a time. Yes, I imagine it is more difficult when you don’t have close female relations nearby to help maintain connections. To conclude, yours is not a lifestyle conducive to modern courtship.” 

“What do you know about modern courtship?” he asked. 

Morwen gave him an exasperated look. “Who else has a better grasp of the subject than a woman of twenty-two?” 

Thengel rubbed his forehead. “Forgive me. I misspoke — wait, twenty-two?” he cried. “You’re padding your age by nine months.” 

“That is the first rule of modern courtship,” she sniffed. “Although in your case there may be such a thing as too much padding. We may have to focus on reverses.”  

“What do you mean we?” 

“Thengel, I am trying to tell you that you’re clearly helpless on your own as a lover and that I believe I could be of some service to you in that regard.” 

Lady Gwereneth began making a strange bubbling noise. Morwen and Thengel ignored her. 

“In what manner?” 

“I could find you a wife as I did for Gaeron.” 

The skin around Thengel’s eyes crinkled as he squinted, perhaps envisioning this play out. “That is a hair-raising prospect.” He glanced at her. “Why?” 

“My sisterly affection for you insists on being useful.” 

Thengel’s expression shuttered. “Oh.” 

“As a lady who is out in society, I’m perfectly suited to assist you. I happen not to be occupied and I do have some acquaintances in town and in the country. By the by, must your wife necessarily hail from Rohan or do you have a choice?” She smoothed her skirts, saying airily, “I hadn’t considered it before now.” 

Thengel blinked. “I…no, but I can safely tell you that the type of woman I am looking for would not be found in the Mark.” 

“Good.” When he looked surprised, she added, “I do not believe Father would allow me to travel to Rohan to find you a wife.” 

“Certainly not,” her mother answered in Lord Amarthor’s stead.  

Thengel cleared his throat, glancing once at Lady Gwereneth, then back at Morwen. “I wouldn’t put you through the unnecessary trouble of a long trip to an uncouth land for that reason.” 

Morwen’s eyes widened with sudden interest. “Is Rohan considered uncouth?” 

“Relative to the recent developments to indoor plumbing in Minas Tirith…I’d say yes.” 

Morwen looked grave. “Oh. I’m sure it’s charmingly rustic.” She stared once more at the toes of her slippers. “That is something to consider in a woman. Is it very likely that you will ever return to Rohan?” 

“That depends entirely on whom you ask.” 

“I am asking you.” 

“It is not what I wish,” he admitted. “But I have an uncomfortable feeling in my bones that I may be dragged back one day unless King Fengel discovers the elixir of youth — or another son.” 

“You really don’t want to go back?” 

“Well, before this evening, no. Now it might be a necessity.” He pointed to his forehead. “So that the circlet can help hide the expanse of my forehead, you understand.” 

She smirked. “So, the answer is yes, you are likely to return and yes, you’d rather not.” 

He shrugged. “The probability is high. Nothing is fixed, however.” 

Morwen considered this information and began ticking off traits on her fingers. “This lady must be willing to relocate and she should not perhaps be too fastidious or attached to luxury…yet of a certain class eligible to marry into a royal family. And I suppose she will have to care for you.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Must she, Morwen?” 

“It helps, in my observation.” 

“I defer to your judgment on the matter.” 

Morwen leaned back deeply into the sofa and stared up at the ceiling as she thought. Then she squinched her eyes shut. “I see in my mind’s eye a country noblewoman from a very old vintage. She is somewhere between a youthful bloom and being considered of a Certain Age. Perhaps thirty.” 

“With or without padding her age?” 

Morwen nudged him with her elbow. “Hush, Thengel. She is exactly thirty. In the absence of a husband and children, the focus of her life’s passion is dog breeding.” 

Thengel snorted. Morwen ignored it. 

“She is accustomed to the grit and grime of the kennel, is not unfamiliar with hand feeding the newly delivered bitches, and cleaning up the diarrhea of the pups. Her noble ancestor served as a lieutenant under Elendil himself.”  

“I don’t feel so certain….” 

Morwen sat up straight, eyes flashing. “But she’s the only trusted advisor to Lord Ecthelion on the subject of hunting dogs. What more could you want?” she said in earnest over Thengel’s objections. “Her mind is a veritable trove of information. And where there is information, there’s sense.” 

“Not necessarily.” 

“She is known to all the court for her excellent knowledge and an open demeanor and is therefore excused for having ruddy cheeks and gowns covered in….” 

“Do you know this woman?” he asked, suspicious. 

Morwen blinked at Thengel, feeling like she had come out of a trance. “Well, that’s what I imagine.” She tugged gently on his sleeve. “Understand I am trying to develop a concept.” 

“Oh, a concept. I see.” He shook his head. “The highborn lowbrow lady.” 

Morwen brightened. “Yes, that’s it! You do understand. She must be someone…comfortable.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Someone…oh, what I mean is, someone who could be contented in a variety of circumstances and will be respectable whatever those circumstances may be…wise in the ways of the world, but not so wise in years that you’ll want for heirs.” 

She unlaced her arm from his, turning so that she sat on the edge of the sofa and faced Thengel fully. She held an intensity in her countenance that nearly made him scoot over a little.  “Tell me, and be truthful, what color of eyes do you favor?” 

Thengel stared into hers with what felt to her like a dare. “Eyes? You mean to say that the right woman for me should have two of them? I began to imagine this person had probably lost one or two along the way — probably scratched out trying to break up a dog fight.” 

Morwen turned her nose up at him. “A woman may be a charming companion if she has no eyes at all. But if she happened to have eyes, Thengel, do you prefer them to be blue or brown or… “

He gripped her chin. “Each a different color, Morwen. Then I don’t have to decide.” 

Morwen frowned against his fingers. “She must also possess a tolerance for a facetious personality,” she mumbled. 

“True.” He let go of her face to point at the pile of wedding day sketches half hidden between her skirts and the sofa. “Remind me, how exactly were you responsible for joining Gaeron to his wife? You’ll forgive me if I wish to see credentials.” 
 
Morwen sat back languidly. “Oh, it was entirely my idea. Did not Gaeron mention it? How ungrateful. You see, we attended a banquet held by the Keeper of the Keys last spring.” 

“I don’t remember. Where was I?” 

The question had the effect of drawing an icy curtain over Morwen’s features. “You had somewhat recently been stationed in Pelargir at the time. I had a pretty letter from you the day before begging forgiveness for missing my presentation at Tower Hall after I particularly invited you — I mean,” she glanced toward her mother, “after Father invited you.”

Thengel raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, the invitation arrived on his stationary, anyway,” she amended.   

“Ah, yes. You — I mean, Lord Amarthor — didn’t reply so I assume I am still unforgiven?”

“Correct. Anyway,” Morwen smoothed her skirt over her lap again as she recalled the events. “The banquet was my first outing since being presented. During dinner, I noticed a Beautiful Stranger from across the crowded hall.” 

“Tathren?” 

“Well, it wasn’t Gaeron.” 

He shook his head. “Silly of me.” 

“She sat near to Gaeron and I immediately thought how splendid it would be if they happened to notice one another as I felt they would be beautifully grouped in a painting.” 

“That’s a basis for a relationship, is it?” 

“Yes, Thengel. One day I will have them sit for me as the tragic Tar-Míriel and villainous Ar-Pharazôn.” She ignored the choked sound Thengel hadn’t managed to muffle. “So after dinner I had myself introduced to dear Tathren and then I suggested that we take a turn about the room together so that I could ward off potential rivals and…” 

“And then you frogmarched her into Gaeron’s arms.” 

Morwen scoffed. “I frogmarched her within a respectable distance and no nearer. What do you take me for?” 

“Forgive me. Then you introduced them, they danced, and then happily ever after?” 

Morwen held up a finger to stop his interruptions. “Nearly. You see, Gaeron happened to be standing with your mutual acquaintance, Lord Serion. I had to introduce her to both of them or risk snubbing the hosts by snubbing the guest.”

“You’ve memorized your etiquette manual.” 

“I am a lady.” 

“So you’ve said. Please continue.” 

“Then Serion had the audacity to ask Tathren before Gaeron could,” she recalled with a thread of steel in her voice. “You can imagine how provoking that was for my brother.” 

“An infernal way for Serion to behave,” Thengel agreed, “but I believe very much in character. I’ve never known him to miss an opportunity…especially when he hasn’t any sisters to create them for him.”

Morwen scowled at him through half-lidded eyes. “You are teasing me.” 

“Yes, dear heart, but don’t let that stop you. Did you overcome this adversity?” 

Morwen picked up a strand of her hair, winding it around her finger, and nodded. “It all came right in the end. The opportunist ended up empty-handed and Gaeron prevailed once I explained to him that he had just experienced love at first sight.” 

They sat quietly while Morwen allowed Thengel to digest this information. He ran his fingers through the back of his straight blond hair in an absent-minded way. Then he glanced down at her. 

“Perhaps it’s my lack of education, but I don’t believe love at first sight can be explained to the parties concerned,” he challenged. 

Morwen raised her chin. “Well, I loved the idea of them at first sight,” she said shortly. “Say it occurred by proxy.” 

He watched her for a moment, before seeming to come to an understanding. “Forgive me, Morwen,” he said companionably, “but the only part of this story that rings true is that Serion danced first with Tathren.” 

Morwen blushed. “Actually, that’s the part that I may have amended with the telling.” 

“Explain yourself.”  

She lowered her voice so her mother would not overhear. “What I am about to tell you is in Strict Confidence.” 

“Why?” he whispered back. 

“Because if Mother found out she would whisk me back to Lossarnach. For good.” 

Thengel held up three fingers. “I solemnly swear to never tell a soul.” 

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. “Lord Serion asked me to dance first, not Tathren.” 

Thengel seemed to tense like a bowstring, causing Morwen to open her eyes and look at him. 

“Serion,” he echoed dully. 

“Yes, Lord Serion, the extremely attractive lady-killer. Well, he asked me and I could see, as they are friends, that Gaeron would be no help, so I….” She shuddered. “So I threw Tathren under the wagon wheels.”

“How so?” 

“I invented a false truth.” She winced. 

Thengel’s eyebrows cinched together. “A lie.” 

“Oh, that word.” 

“What did you say?” 

“I told Serion that Tathren would be a more charming partner and that I had already engaged Gaeron to dance with me next.” The confession came out so choked that Morwen wondered if Thengel had heard any of it — until she glanced at his face. Then she knew he had. 

Thengel struggled to smother a grin. “Your brother.” 

Morwen buried her face in her hands. “Yes.” 

She could hear the laughter in Thengel’s voice. “What possessed you?” 

“I didn’t drag Tathren over in order to beg for a partner for myself,” she whinged into her palms. “Besides, something about Serion made me feel like hiding behind a curtain,” she said through her fingers. 

“With or without Serion?” 

Morwen glared at him until he retracted the question. 

“Thengel, he fits all the descriptions Mother has given me of Undeserving Men. I panicked. I knew someone like him would cross my path eventually, but I thought it would take longer than my first banquet.”  

Thengel massaged the back of his neck. He looked, Morwen felt, as if he regarded her as a newly discovered specimen of some kind. “You assume now that you’ve entered society it naturally follows that you’ll be seduced?” 

She looked at him with pitying condescension. “Of course. What could be more natural?”

He looked away briefly and cleared his throat. “And what did Gaeron do?” 

Morwen almost shrugged but caught herself. “He played along, though I could see that he had been about to ask Tathren to dance. I believe he wanted very much to push me out of a window for ruining things.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s ejected someone through a window.” 

“I know,” she sighed. “And it wouldn’t have been so bad since we were on the ground floor, but eventually he did have his turn with Tathren so I think I’m forgiven.” 

“And did you escape Serion in the end?” 

Morwen folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, a twisted ankle endured while dancing with Gaeron spared me from Serion.” 

“Twisted on purpose?” 

Morwen gazed placidly toward the fireplace, avoiding Thengel’s gaze. “Not to Serion’s knowledge.” 

Thengel shook his head. “I’ve never known a polite society that didn’t turn its citizens into liars. You could have told him no.” 

“And ruin my chances of dancing the rest of the night? No. You’re prejudiced because of your upbringing in the brutal north,” she accused. “Is it the extreme cold that makes your people so terribly blunt?”

“The Rohirrim aren’t terribly blunt. It simply wouldn’t occur to them to cover up the truth in layers of pretty bows and poppycock to make it more palatable to people they don’t like. They say what they mean to everybody.”  

“I’ve noticed,” she remarked, rubbing the skin behind one of her ears. “You’re always telling me the truth about myself and it’s not always flattering.” 

Thengel looked for a moment as if he had sat on something prickly. “All the better to avoid any resemblance to men like Lord Serion.” 

“Oh, you need never fear that. You’re perfectly safe.” 

A crease appeared between Thengel’s brows again. “Safe!” he grumbled. “There are some corsairs who might disagree.” 

“And any ladies?” she challenged. 

He looked down his nose at her. “You can hardly expect me to own it to you.” 

Morwen’s eyes swept over his face, assessing for a bluff. She said, “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She lifted a foot a little from the floor and drew a circle in the air with the toe of her slipper. “Lord Serion did offer to test my ankle for soundness with the pretended motivation of consideration for me.”  She glanced up at Thengel through her lashes. 

He gave her a startled look. “Did you let him?” 

She put her foot down. “Of course not. I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“Nearly,” Thengel muttered. 

Lady Gwereneth put her sewing down. “Morwen, what are the two of you discussing so closely?” 

“Nothing, Mother. I’ve been relaying Gaeron and Tathren’s love story.” 

Lady Gwereneth pursed her lips, but kept her comments to herself. 

Thengel turned back to Morwen with a shrewd expression. “While you set up your brother for future happiness at the expense of your ankles, what about securing your own? Serion aside, I thought you’d have a string of admirers hanging around your door tonight. I imagined Lord Amarthor beating them back with his encyclopedias.” 

Morwen laughed at that image. “They would have to be extremely aggravating for my father to notice. I’d be more likely to start beating them off myself.”

“Really? I thought you’d like it.” 

“Oh, I’m very particular.”  

Thengel studied a hangnail on his thumb. “You didn’t meet anyone besides Lord Serion to pique your interest?” 

Morwen frowned. “Society in Minas Tirith is so thin of interesting men that I’ve decided to give up thinking of marriage. Instead, I will devote my life to making matches for other people now that I know I have a genius for it.” 

Lady Gwereneth cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the new candles that had begun to drip in long wax runnels. “I believe Lord Thengel has heard enough nonsense for one night.” 

Thengel took her point. “On the contrary, Lady Gwereneth, it has been an enlightening evening,” he said as he rose.  

Before he could leave, Morwen snatched his hand. “You will allow me to help you, won’t you?” 

Thengel frowned down at her. “Morwen, I don’t believe…” 

“You can’t deny me,” she insisted. “It’s my new life’s purpose. Without it, I’ll probably have to marry Lord Serion.” 

Thengel did not look impressed by this. “You might be out of his reckoning.” 

“Thank you.” She gave him a bright smile. “Do you accept my assistance?” 

“Well.” Something made him pause. “The part of me lacking a sense of self-preservation is curious to find out what sort of creature you’ll manage to scare up.”

“I can do it! I will do it — and she’ll be a perfect lady, despite what you think. In fact, I intend to find her before we return to Lossarnach next week.” 

Thengel blanched. “In a week? Don’t you think that’s hasty?”

Morwen tucked her hair behind her ear, sighing. “Perhaps, but who would I be able to find for you in a backwater place like Lossarnach? An herbalist with no teeth? The ladies are here in Minas Tirith. And thanks to Captain Ecthelion they outnumber the men quite a bit.”  

He regarded her for a moment. “Then let’s set some rules, shall we? You have one week to produce this person. After that, I’m on my own. You will make no guarantees to anyone in my name.”

“Guarantees?” 

“Meaning,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder, “I won’t wake up betrothed one morning without any knowledge of it because you got carried away.”  

“I would never presume,” she huffed. “After all, you will have to do some of the work.” 

“One would think,” he sighed. “And no hard feelings between us if I reject your findings.” 

Morwen gave him a dazzling smile. “None whatsoever. But I am confident that if anyone can recognize a bride for you, it will be me.” 

He regarded her steadily for a long moment. “We’ll see if our opinions coincide on that subject.” 

“You do promise to give her a fair chance?” 

For a second or two, he looked almost mutinous, but then he nodded. 

“Shake hands?” she asked, offering hers. 

He clasped her wrist in the manner of the people of Riddermark.  

“That’s settled then. Good night, Thengel.” 

“Good night, Morwen.” 

“You will hear from me soon.” 

“That’s a promise then.” Then he bowed to both of the ladies and let himself out of the room. 

After the door closed behind him, Morwen gathered up her sketches, which she intended to feed to the fire as soon as her mother left for bed. 

“Mother, why do you think Thengel has waited so long to marry?” she asked in a breezy tone that made her mother look up with suspicion. “I don’t at all believe he’s been too busy.” 

“He doesn’t really belong here, does he?” Gwereneth answered as she packed up her sewing. She glanced at her daughter. “It’s no business for you to worry about, is it?” 

Morwen’s eyes grew round at her mother’s senseless question. “Then whose is it? He’s been in the family for years.” 

“Being the particular friend of your older brother is not the same as being in the family, Morwen.” Gwereneth gave her daughter an appraising look. “I’ve ignored it in the past, but I must say you are too old now to treat the heir of Rohan with such familiarity. It might give the wrong impression.” 

Of what? She only worried about Thengel’s impressions and she knew for a fact that he wasn’t in danger of misunderstanding her. Morwen chose, however, not to voice her opinion as her mother rose and crossed to the door. Gwereneth paused on the threshold and gave her daughter a dry look. 

“And don’t think for a moment that I’m ignorant about Lord Serion.” 

Morwen felt like a frog had gotten into her throat. “Good night, Mother,” she croaked. 

Gwereneth raised an eyebrow. “Don’t stay up too late. We’re attending Renneth’s reception tomorrow for all the out-of-town guests before they depart. You won’t want dark circles under your eyes. That woman notices everything.” 

Morwen had forgotten all about Tathren’s mother’s little farewell gathering. She hadn’t been able to think beyond Gaeron’s wedding day for some time. While she would normally prefer to sit at home after the flurry of wedding preparations during the last week, she thought she could use the gathering to her advantage. 

“And one more thing,” Gwereneth’s voice pulled Morwen out of her reverie. “I would appreciate it if, while we’re there, you could curb that continuous stream of talking that you’ve adopted recently.” 

“Yes, Mother.” 

“Hm.” 

Once Morwen was certain that her mother would not return, she crept to the fireplace and began to feed her sketches into it one by one. And while they burned, she screwed herself up for the task she had appointed for herself. 
 
“Fool,” she muttered while wishing she had the heart to burn that old letter instead. 

Chapter Text

Morwen awoke the next morning free from any pillowy skin, despite her mother's worries. She felt fresh and eager as she accompanied Gwereneth to the townhouse leased by Gaeron's new in-laws.

Renneth's reception marked the closing of the wedding week while providing a gesture of gratitude to the new couple's family and friends who would soon be leaving town for their homes in other fiefs. Tathren's family lived in Pelargir and many of the guests hailed from Lebennin and were strangers to Morwen. Their faces and introductions had blurred together over the course of the wedding week with all the little rituals that led up to the final ceremony. If only she had thought to be of use to Thengel before the wedding, she could have produced a thorough catalog of suitable women for him the evening before.

Granted, until a year ago Morwen had held some proprietary feelings toward the heir of the Riddermark. Though she flattered herself that she had at least outgrown her possessiveness once she came of age. She had, after all, been disabused of some false notions at the time regarding her importance to their family friend.

Morwen armored herself with the thought that anyone who knew the family might little wonder that she had harbored false notions. Thengel's presence had always been a fixture in Amarthor's household in Minas Tirith ever since Gaeron had picked a fight with him when they were both young warriors in training. In a process Morwen didn't pretend to understand, the conflict had made the two men fast friends. She had been a toddler then, so she could never clearly remember a time before Thengel.

But recently a seed had sprouted and grown into the idea of sharing him beyond the family; a sign of how mature and level-headed she had grown, especially given the long history they shared. She could think of him comfortably as something…somewhat…ish…like a brother. A little. A fledgling to be pushed out of the nest like Gaeron.

Amarthor and Gwereneth, however, were far too formal to allow Morwen to treat him quite the same way that she and Gaeron had behaved toward one another. Her mother would have died if Morwen had tried to wrestle with Thengel the way Gaeron had let her. Of course, Gaeron had only been humoring her. She tried now to replace those memories of Gaeron with Thengel and found that a strange feeling came over her like an undercurrent ready to pull her down.

Her mother bumped into her. "Why are you stopping in the middle of the lane?"

Morwen shook herself out of that interesting reverie. "Sorry."

They had chosen to walk to the sixth circle as it was a beautiful day and the heat had not yet become overwhelming. As usual, Morwen had to measure her pace so that her mother wouldn't need to skip in her fine clothes to keep up with Morwen's longer strides — a fact of inheriting most of her physical attributes from the Belfalas side of the family, an advantage Gwereneth didn't have. Morwen sometimes forgot about this when her thoughts galloped away on her as they had now.

"If your head is in the clouds it's time to come back to solid ground now," Gwereneth griped. "I hope you will remember to be a good guest rather than disappear to scribble in the corner."

Morwen gave her mother a razor smile. "Good? I intend to be perfect."

She felt her mother's suspicious gaze before being pulled along in the woman's wake. "I am somehow not comforted, Morwen."

"My paper and pencils are at home," she confided. "I will speak to everyone in the room like a well-bred lady…though you will have to remind me of their names."

Gwereneth's shoulders tensed into, perhaps impossibly, an even straighter line. "There's no need to go out of your way. Simply remember to attend to those nearest you. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't circulate the entire room," she continued. "You've had one season in town and now you think you know everything there is to know."

Well, come to think of it, yes, Morwen did feel that way. But she said, "Don't misinterpret this as ingratitude for your advice, Mother, but I intend to begin my investigation today on Thengel's behalf. Circulating the room is a necessity."

"Lord Thengel." All the lines on Gwereneth seemed to deepen in one accord as the conversation flowed into strange waters. "I don't understand why he humors you."

"Why, I've always felt that humor rather than manners was the better preserver of friendship."

Gwereneth exhaled in a slow, measured way. "Malapert speeches are not becoming in a lady, Morwen, nor will it assist you in finding a husband," she reproved.

"Fortunately that is not my object for this afternoon. I'm trying to make a husband…for someone else."

Morwen felt her mother look at her with what she interpreted as equal parts exhaustion and exasperation. Why couldn't the child of her age have been the biddable sort, the expression seemed to mean. Morwen fumed. The traits her mother could not abide in Morwen were praised in Gaeron. It wasn't fair.

"I shall have to speak to Lord Thengel about how he encourages your behavior," Gwereneth grumbled. "For the time being, please refrain from embarrassing Tathren's parents or putting yourself in a compromising situation."

Morwen raised three fingers. "I give you my word to behave beautifully or perish."

"Well, don't strain yourself," her mother bit off. "We're nearly there."

They arrived at the house in the sixth circle that had been leased by Tangon and his wife Renneth for their stay in Minas Tirith during the wedding. They were a wealthy family with merchant vessels. The couple tended to keep close to their warehouses and had only seen fit to come to Minas Tirith when their daughter had come of age several years before. Therefore, they kept no permanent residence in the White City and had taken a home that had been used by the extended members of the royal family hundreds of years ago.

The house had a stately aspect despite the evidence of decay and disuse that afflicted a growing number of houses in the city as the population and the skill of its craftsmen dwindled. Morwen overheard Gwereneth suggest to Amarthor when they first arrived in the city for the wedding that Tangon and Renneth had put on airs when they made their choice of lodgings in the sixth circle. Morwen thought only that it put them near Thengel's home on the same level. She had never visited him at his home. She found herself glancing farther down the lane until the view became lost in the curve while they waited at the gate for the hired porter, wondering which crumbling facade belonged to their friend.

Once admitted into the house, they were welcomed by Tathren's mother and father, who congratulated both families on the union and then reminisced with Gwereneth. But since Morwen had contributed very little to the wedding beyond her presence and the cunningly hidden pin, her attention traveled around the large stateroom where the reception took place until something like a struck chord denoted a shift in the conversation.

"It is a pleasure to have a daughter married," she heard Renneth congratulate herself. "Though I must say that it's very lonely in the house now."

"Who could wonder in such a large establishment," her mother replied dryly. "Fortunately for me, Morwen is still a bit young to marry."

Morwen's eyebrows shot up and she had to school them back down again to their normal level. It surprised her to hear herself referred to as young all the time. After all, she had never been as old as she was now.

Renneth sighed. "I suppose I'll have to content myself when the grandchildren begin to arrive. Our home in Pelargir will have to be completely rearranged for it when Tathren and Gaeron stay with us, but it is a small matter. Of course, if they would take my advice and purchase their own home nearby then it would be unnecessary to hide all the breakables."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop sharply at the mention of Gaeron moving to Lebennin. Morwen shivered at the glacial expression on her mother's face. She hadn't heard any discussion from her brother or sister-in-law on the subject and it seemed to go without saying that they would remain near the estate that Gaeron would inherit from Amarthor in Lossarnach.

"I never heard Pelargir described as an especially welcoming city to young families," Gwereneth remarked, "with the residential district butting up against the docks and warehouses and…public houses."

"Haven't you? How strange. My dear Tathren turned out just fine relative to other girls who didn't grow up within view of warehouses."

Morwen could detect an undercurrent of competition between the two women with both of their gazes falling suddenly on her. Unwilling to be mortified by comparisons to her new sister-in-law, she used the pretext of following a servant with a tray of food toward the overflowing sideboard where other guests had gathered to graze. She already knew her mother disapproved of her on principle. She didn't relish being exposed to general opinion.

Having filled a small plate with some fruit and some little cream cakes, Morwen scanned the room for likely women and found a promising set of very pretty girls. She squeezed herself onto the sofa between them. They talked of the wedding. One of the women, she learned, had recently become engaged and pressed Morwen for details regarding Tathren's flowers and gowns and jewelry. Morwen could not be helpful. Renneth had supplied almost everything for her daughter. Anything that Morwen wore or held at the ceremony had simply materialized in her room either by Renneth or Gwereneth's will. Well, except for the pin.

Morwen tried to change the subject but found her companions had nothing to offer on the topic of hunting and spoke only generally about other domestic topics. One or two had definite opinions on cookery, but that would not be a task for a wife in Thengel's house. None had ever met Lord Ecthelion. Most of them were Morwen's age and thought a man of twenty-seven might be pushing the bounds, let alone anyone over thirty.

Finding nothing that would tempt Thengel here, Morwen handed off her empty wine glass and plate to a passing servant and went to attack the other side of the room where some interesting ladies stood looking out through a set of massive windows into a courtyard garden that lay sandwiched between the townhouses. Morwen invited herself into the middle of their group.

She had arrived in time to overhear one of the ladies inquire if the City Watch should be called. Morwen scanned the negative space of the lawn in search of the subject and nearly gasped. They were looking at, stars — was that an enormous cat that had gotten into the garden?

The creature looked practically the height of one of Gaeron's retrievers. It had a solid black coat and fierce yellow eyes that seemed to regard the world with half-lidded contempt. And its ears stood far larger than a house cat's and grouped close together over its head like someone had set two oblong relish dishes side by side on a stand. The limp body of a rat hung from the cat's mouth while it lounged in the sun.

Morwen turned to inquire of her neighbors about this strange creature when she felt Gwereneth's presence behind her like an icy draft.

"Morwen, what on earth have you got on your dress?" her mother hissed in her ear.

Leave it to her mother to notice a spot on Morwen's clothes rather than a strange cat in the yard. Morwen glanced down half expecting to find a wine stain or cream from one of the little cakes. At first, she could see nothing. But then she turned a little and the light from the window hit a stiff black fiber sticking out from the weave. Then she became aware of other similar fibers. Morwen plucked one between her fingers to inspect it. A frisson of excitement passed through her being. It looked too short and wiry to belong to her.

"I believe it is animal hair."

Tathren's parents kept no pets, so someone else had tracked the hair onto the furniture. This meant the cat wasn't a feral creature that had snuck into the garden but must belong to a guest here in the house or perhaps to a negligent neighbor.

As Morwen's thoughts cartwheeled along this interesting line, the owner of a pleasant though booming voice could be heard saying, "Goodness. Nahtar has gotten out of his pen again, clever bastard. I'll just nip into the garden and put away the rascal. Oh look, the little hunter found a morsel. I hope it wasn't an ornamental rat, Renneth. No? That's a relief."

Morwen swiveled around to find the owner of that voice. She saw a woman that she had been introduced to a few days ago, but the name eluded her. The woman appeared elegantly dressed and seemed well-to-do, but for a few details. She had the tanned skin of a field hand and her long, loose hair had the frayed look of being whipped around by the wind for hours at a time.

Morwen launched herself forward just as the woman passed by, causing them nearly to collide. She reached out to touch the woman's arm both to stop her and to avoid a true collision.

"Forgive me," Morwen stammered a little theatrically. "I didn't see you there…Lady….um?"

Morwen could feel her mother's sudden grip on the back of her dress, ready to haul her bodily away if necessary, as her mother had done numerous times whenever Morwen had attempted to step into the street as a child.

"Morwen, you remember Tathren's cousin, Lady Húnil?" Gwereneth reminded her with glacial politeness, which Morwen knew how to interpret as a promise of future lectures. "Forgive my daughter," her mother said to Húnil. "She doesn't always watch where she's going."

Morwen felt an extra tug on the back of her bodice in emphasis. She bowed her head. "Forgive my clumsiness, Lady Húnil."

Lady Húnil regarded both women with an easy smile. "No harm done, I'm sure," she soothed, her voice echoing as if she often had to talk into the same wind that had frayed her hair. "But you'll excuse me — there's a cat to be crated."

Lady Húnil strode off without further ado. As Morwen watched her go, she remembered the sketch of Húnil she had made the night before, even if she couldn't attach a name at the time. She had accentuated the lips and the cheekbones; but Morwen had failed to notice, she realized, that Húnil had beautiful hazel eyes that didn't seem to be truly blue or green or amber, but all of them like threads woven in a tapestry. The perfect eyes for an admirer who refused to be pinned down by choice. Like Thengel.

Morwen extricated herself from her mother and made to follow Lady Húnil, who had left the stateroom to stride down an empty gallery that bordered the garden. Morwen had to skip a little to hurry her pace while still within view of Renneth's guests, feeling a little bit more sympathy for her mother.

"Is that your cat?" Morwen called. "I've never seen one so large."

"It's no wonder," Lady Húnil replied over her shoulder. "That's a hunting cat from the southern grasslands. Quite exotic in these parts."

A hunting cat! That ranked almost as highly as hounds. Morwen could have hugged herself, but she didn't have the time. The woman stood a few fingers taller than Morwen and had a stately bearing, and her strides seemed to swallow up the length of the gallery. Morwen lifted her skirts so that she could catch up at a run.

Perhaps sensing that she had acquired an accomplice, Lady Húnil waited at the door where a footman had materialized just in time to open it for them. Morwen caught up and slipped through into the garden behind Húnil.

In the walled garden, the cat lay making short work of the rat as it lounged in the sun. With little to shield the space from the direct overhead light of noon, the garden felt very warm. But the cat only seemed to absorb it like a sleek black sponge. Morwen watched in morbid fascination as it worried the meat from the bones with the largest pink sandpaper tongue she had ever seen.

Húnil stood in front of the cat with her hands on her hips. "Now see here, Nahtar, you've been a very naughty little prince."

The cat ignored her, rolling slightly onto its side, and began dispassionately cleaning its paws. Only the unfurling of its tail and thumping it once on the ground marked that the feline might have heard his mistress. From paw to claw, his body could stretch out almost as long as Morwen was tall.

"He's enormous," Morwen breathed.

"Oh yes, the largest in my kennel," Húnil drawled with no small amount of pride. "But his sire dwarfed this fellow. Zorzagar could take down a deer on his own. Nahtar is quite good at bagging large waterfowl and heartier-sized rodents. In fact, a little rat like this is quite beneath him. Isn't it?" she cooed, addressing the cat. Then crossing her arms, she remarked to Morwen, "He only did it out of spite for being cooped up." She raised her voice in scorn, "You know I can't have you roaming around town stalking fine ladies' little doggies. Cousin Renneth will be very upset that you've littered bones and innards over the grass in front of her guests."

Nahtar stretched and rolled onto his back to sun his sleek belly. He settled into a half-moon shape as they gazed at him. He returned their gazes through barely slitted eyelids. Morwen felt the urge to scratch his belly, but the part of her that understood consequences held her back.

"He's a handsome fellow," Morwen admired. "How will you crate him again? Can he be carried or held by the scruff?"

"Not if you value your flesh," Húnil quipped with loud glee. Morwen wondered if she might be partially deaf, for she spoke at a consistent volume as if trying to be heard over a crowd. "Between claws and teeth, he'll flay you to ribbons. A tether won't do either. They just go boneless and wriggling. No, it's bribery or a sedative for this one. I prefer the former." Morwen noticed Húnil's glance catalog her from head to toe. "You don't happen to carry sardines in your pockets, do you?"

Morwen shook her head, puzzled by what she meant. "Sorry, no. I don't have any pockets. Or sardines."

Húnil shrugged. "It's no bother. Only I've run out, you see. Nahtar is too clever by half. It's said they've got a bit of southern sorcery about them, these cats. He certainly seems to work some kind of charm on his enclosure door. I've had to bribe him on several occasions since we arrived in the city and it has depleted my supply."

As if to illustrate her point, Húnil inserted her hands between folds in her gown and pulled out triangles of fabric that had been sewn in between the seams of her dress. A small piece of dried fish fell out, which caused Nahtar to raise his head for a moment before laying it down again in ennui.

"I only brought him with me to show my cousin what these cats are capable of. Another time," Lady Húnil said archly, "and I'll tell my dear cousin to come to me instead."

Morwen might have wondered what Renneth would want with a hunting cat, but she felt temporarily enamored by small purses — pockets — that Lady Húnil had sewn into her gown. Why wasn't that a standard staple of dress patterns? Morwen never liked having a purse hanging around her waist and her mother tended to be very dictatorial about what she permitted Morwen to store in it — no pencils and paper.

But with pockets, Morwen could keep some paper folded up on one side and a small tin of pencils in the other. Such a storage method certainly proved more convenient than stuffing art supplies down her bodice, a thing that had become increasingly impractical once she'd developed breasts. It was easy enough to stash her drawing supplies when she dressed, but much more difficult to discretely retrieve them later when she wanted them in a public setting.

Morwen considered the quality of a woman who had ordered pockets sewn into her dresses, even her fine gowns. And the sort of woman who used them to carry sardines to bribe exotic animals. Morwen felt a ping of gratitude that Lady Húnil considered that she might be the same sort of woman…at least same enough to ask.

Lady Húnil squatted down and attempted to snatch away the remnants of the rat. Nahtar's head shot up, ears flat against its head, and began to hiss and spit in a ferocious manner. Húnil held her ground but Morwen stepped back. The cat had seemed so languorous that it had lulled Morwen into a false sense of security. She pitied the rat which had probably died quite terrified.

Lady Húnil reached for the rat tail again and this time Nahtar's velveted paw swiped the air, claws out. It sent a warning. The woman chose to heed it.

"Well, so much for that," Lady Húnil chuckled with a good-natured shrug that Morwen knew Gwereneth would have detested. Her voice had a way of echoing off of the garden walls. "The rapscallion prince refuses to cooperate."

Morwen might have questioned why Húnil kept referring to her cat as a prince, but she could see before her a creature who clearly considered itself to be royalty. A funny thought occurred to her as she reflected on her own family. Her father's cousins had a penchant for rich food and always arrived on time for meals, even if they had their own sense of timing where other duties were concerned.

"I could get some goose liver mousse from the sideboard," Morwen offered. "I don't think anyone will stop me…but I'm a decent sprinter if they should try."

Lady Húnil beamed at her. "Liver should do the trick. Good thinking, my girl."

Morwen ran back inside and only remembered to skid to a walk like a proper lady just before returning to the party. She had to be quick or else her mother would probably stop her from returning to the garden. She didn't want to miss this opportunity to make friends with Húnil, even if it meant breaking her promise to perfectly behave. What was a small sacrifice of propriety in the name of one's friend's future happiness? Besides her mother would probably be relieved once Morwen managed to marry Thengel off. He couldn't come around so often to be a bad influence. Morwen tripped over her own foot but righted herself before she could fall. Clumsy.

Belatedly, Morwen realized her mother had probably been watching in horror from the window this entire time and would be expecting Morwen to materialize at any moment after she had disappeared from Húnil's side. Morwen stooped a bit so that she couldn't be seen quite so obviously over the heads of the other guests, as her height contrasted quite a bit with the statures of her sister-in-law's family whose pedigree leaned in favor of the old mountain communities rather than those from over the sea.

A servant stood sentinel over the refreshments, rearranging the dishes after some of the empty ones had been taken away from the sideboard. Morwen pretended to inspect the offerings. Once the servant turned away, she snatched the entire plate of savory mousse and, in a bid to look natural, held it in front of her as if she had filled a plate with several little delicacies instead of a large quantity of meat paste. She kept her gaze vague to put off anyone who might catch her eye and challenge her for absconding with the appetizer.

Morwen had almost reached the threshold when she heard her mother call her name. She jumped a little. Then grimacing, she quickened her pace toward the door knowing full well that her mother also knew that she had heard but had chosen to ignore it. The walk home would be extremely unpleasant later. Oh well, she would bear the lecture stoically and think of Thengel.

…

It turned out that rich food had the same effect on the princes of cats as it did on the princes of Belfalas, which allowed Húnil to lead the feline next door to where she had also taken a house. Morwen accompanied her, utterly fascinated by the desert cat and the two others that Húnil had also brought along. They were smaller females who didn't seem inclined to break out of the space where food magically materialized twice a day to follow their brother into the strange stone city.

Once Nahtar lay safely ensconced in his enclosure, Morwen squatted down to watch him through the wooden slats of the pen. Even with the cage between them, she felt the need to be cautious.

"Do you manage these cats all on your own?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Húnil drawled. "As much as anyone can manage cats. They're like husband and children to me."

"You mean you aren't married?" Morwen asked airily. She thought she knew, but it didn't hurt to confirm.

"Not to my knowledge." Húnil gave her a broad wink.

"How nice," Morwen breathed, grinning. "Will you be leaving soon with the other guests?"

"Oh no. Now that I've made the trip, I intend to stay another month. Cousin Ecthelion still has to see Nahtar."

Morwen barely smothered a gasp. "Lord Ecthelion is your cousin?"

"He is," Húnil affirmed with a nod. "His mother and mine were sisters."

A niece of the Steward by marriage! And one who had the ear of the Captain of the Tower of Guard to boot. Morwen felt her stomach do a little skip. Of course, she wouldn't naturally have made the connection between Húnil and Ecthelion when the lady had mentioned a cousin, but it made much more sense that he would be curious about savage cats from the south that could hunt deer or large rodents than that Tathren's mother Renneth would want one. Although, the rats near the quays in Pelargir did have a fearsome reputation.

"Do you often advise Lord Ecthelion?"

"Well. I am the only authority on exotic hunting cats in Gondor these days. My own mentor mysteriously disappeared one day a few years ago." Húnil's lips curled into a devilish smile. "The cats, of course, will admit to nothing."

Morwen shivered at that thought. Then she asked, "Where is your kennel? Is it far from Minas Tirith?"

"It's on the old family estate in Lebennin."

Morwen felt that that was a blow. "So far."

"What's a day's journey by ship from Pelargir?" Húnil waved her hand dismissively. "It's probably as long a trip on horseback from Lossarnach, depending on where you live in the fief."

"Still, a whole day in one direction is quite a lot, especially with an estate to run. It must be hard for you to come to Minas Tirith often."

"The estate belongs to Ecthelion truly. It passed to him after our grandfather died, but since he had no need of it as a permanent residence beyond Minas Tirith, I manage things. For now, anyway."

Morwen glanced at her. "For now?"

Húnil smiled dryly as she watched Nahtar making inroads into the goose liver. "I hear my cousin's wife would like to spend summers outside of the city, especially as Ecthelion spends quite a bit of time patrolling the river these days."

"He certainly does," Morwen muttered, thinking of the impact that had on Thengel. "What will you do?"

"Find somewhere else to live, I expect," said Húnil with unexpected good humor. It seemed as though nothing could shake her native tranquility. "Moving the kennels will be a piece of work, but otherwise, I am prepared to move at a moment's notice. I'm a bit spartan." She shrugged. "If a suitable place can't be found without overextending my annuity, I suppose I may have to finally bow to fate and marry."

Morwen bit her tongue for ten seconds. She must have been born under a lucky star. Success had come so easily with Gaeron. Now she felt the rays of it again. Húnil completed her list.

Once Nahtar had enjoyed the delicacy provided for him, a servant retrieved the plate and had it cleaned before returning it. Morwen followed Húnil back toward Renneth's lodgings with the empty plate in her hand. On their way back, an idea occurred to her. She waited until they reached the gate to act on it. 

Morwen threaded her arm through Húnil's. "Since you'll be in town, we must invite you to dine with us."

A puzzled crease formed between Húnil's brows. "But won't you be leaving for Lossarnach soon yourselves?"

Húnil clearly remembered more about Morwen than Morwen had remembered about her at their introduction.

"Not for another few days." Then, while the porter opened the gate for them, Morwen suggested, "What about dining with us tomorrow?"

Húnil laughed. "So soon? You don't stand upon ceremony, my girl."

Morwen noted the hint of approval in Húnil's tone. If this lady liked Morwen's lack of ceremony then she would weather Thengel's candor. However, she didn't know if Húnil would quite like the extent to which Morwen lacked ceremony if it meant being set up for marriage by the end of the week. She decided a little deception would help ease Húnil into the idea.

"Yes, you see I'm longing to speak to you about acquiring a…a cat."

Húnil gave her an inquiring look. "You want a cat?"

"Yes, I thought you could advise me." Morwen crossed her fingers.

"Anyone can get you a cat, my girl," Húnil chuckled. "I deal in exotic hunting felines."

"But that's exactly what I'm looking for."

Húnil scanned Morwen up and down, looking doubtful. "You?"

"Well…it's not for me," Morwen amended, pressing a hand to her heart. "It's for a friend. In fact, it would be more expeditious if you advised him directly. And he's coming for dinner tomorrow. You could meet him."

"Who is this?"

"Theng — " Morwen caught herself. "Eh, Lord Thengel of Rohan."

"Oooh Thengel," Húnil drawled with a wave of her hand. "I didn't realize he had any interest in an exotic cat. Why, I saw him only the other day as I left the citadel and he never mentioned it."

Morwen felt a little crestfallen. "You've met Thengel?"

"Of course. He's Ecthelion's shadow, don't you know." Húnil tapped her lips. "Hm. He did seem distracted at the time, which may account for his silence on the subject."

"Distracted by what?"

A conspiratorial grin spread over Húnil's face. "I understand that his home is under renovation. Those projects have a way of creating total upheaval." She smirked at Morwen. "Especially when one undertakes them alone. He really ought to get a wife to manage things."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Lady Húnil," Morwen replied with no small amount of restraint. Húnil kept playing right into her hands. It made her feel giddy. And that's usually when she let her tongue run off without her head. "Though I've never seen his home myself, I hear from Gaeron that it's dismal."

"Well, he has lived alone for a very long time. Some people seem to have a higher tolerance for the house coming down around their ears."

"Yes, it's about time someone helped him sort that out…don't you think?" Morwen batted her eyelashes at Húnil.

"I'm sure there are plenty who wish to." Then Húnil shrugged. "He seems, however, to have decided to take home improvement in hand himself all of a sudden." She waggled her eyebrows at Morwen. "He may be plotting something," she added with a sage tone.

Morwen choked a little, wondering if Húnil had seen right through her. "Do you think so?"

Thengel had not mentioned the renovation to Morwen. She wondered what had brought on this sudden attack of domestic attentiveness. The project had, she learned, already begun before she had volunteered her services as a seasoned matchmaker. Morwen frowned at this line of thought but decided to remain positive. At least his sense of timing coincided with her generous offer. When she found him a bride — and she believed that she had — the woman wouldn't have to move directly into a large, expensive sixth-circle hovel.

"Oh, certainly. The man isn't getting any younger."

"So I have told him," Morwen huffed.

They entered courtyard to Lord Tangon's lodgings and approached the door. "To you, he must seem ancient," Húnil laughed as she rang the bell.

Morwen had thought so as a girl, but after a certain point in her growth, it seemed like she had begun to catch up to him somewhat. In the last five years, she barely gave the difference in their ages any consideration.

But it didn't matter what Morwen thought. She grasped Húnil's arm to stay her before they returned to the group in the main room.

"Do you think he's ancient?" Morwen asked.

"Not much more ancient than I am," Húnil declared with a good-natured smile. "The man only has a handful of years on me, if I'm any judge."

"I'm glad to hear it — I mean — you will come tomorrow, won't you?" Morwen pressed. "I'm longing to hear more about Nahtar and your other cats."

Hunil smiled at her. "Well, with that inducement I believe I will accept your invitation. But I warn you, I can wax eloquent on the subject for hours."

Morwen gave Húnil a brilliant smile. "I'm counting on it."

….

Gwereneth didn't spend the entire walk home giving lectures. Instead, she fumed in silence while Morwen felt her stomach twisting. She had already thoroughly displeased her mother and she hadn't yet told Gwereneth about the invitation she had extended without permission.

Not far from home, her mother finally addressed her.

"You seemed thick as thieves with Lady Húnil today."

Morwen sighed. "I adore her. She's perfect."

Gwereneth's perfect eyebrow arched. "Perfect for what?"

"A wife."

"Whose?"

"Thengel's."

"Stars above," her mother moaned. "You are relentless."

Morwen decided that the time had arrived to broach the subject. She squinted into the sun, the better to blind herself and avoid the look of vinegar waiting for her.

"Mother, I invited Húnil to dine with us tomorrow. Now Father needs to invite Thengel."

A blaze leaped into Gwereneth's eyes, as Morwen had predicted. She flinched away from it.

"And when were you planning to ask for permission before you arranged this?"

Morwen hadn't considered it…in the moment. "You're always telling me that I need to improve my skills as a hostess," she evaded.

"Yes, but not by overtaxing mine or by putting the staff under a strain. You know by now that food doesn't magically materialize in the dining room at every meal."

It had been a surprise to Morwen in her younger years when she learned that food had to be prepared and didn't simply exist as a pie or a pastry or a soup for her convenience. To bring the reality home to roost, Gwereneth had insisted Morwen take lessons from the cook and learn a few recipes. Morwen found she liked cooking except her recipes tended not to turn out as she had a habit of daydreaming in the middle of them. That and Cook never noted any quantities of any of the ingredients in his receipts. But the lesson stuck. Food required preparation and preparation required time and supplies and staff.

"It's only two more people," Morwen pleaded, despite this. "Cook won't have reduced his recipes simply because Gaeron has moved out. And Father never eats much in the middle of the day. We'll have plenty. I promise to give better notice next time."

Gwereneth sighed but conceded. "We can't uninvite a cousin of Lord Ecthelion, I suppose, but you will have to settle the rest with your father. He won't be pleased to have his afternoon studies interrupted by small talk, so good luck persuading him to invite Lord Thengel."

Morwen didn't worry about that, not when she had access to her father's cards. With his nose stuck in a book, he never paid much attention to what happened around him and had never noticed his stock dwindling. Thengel's presence would certainly go over his head. She just had to get one of the lads to run the card over to his home.

That Thengel would be home and available on the morrow she took completely for granted and until they reached their front door, she amused herself by speculating about the different degrees of pleasure and gratitude she could expect from the predestined lovers once they were introduced and provided with a proper nudge in the right direction.

It did grate Morwen's pride a little that the two had already met, especially as outward appearance did not point to an established attraction. She considered that an appropriate challenge to overcome, however. After all, Morwen had not been a part of the equation at the time. As an artist, she knew all about the importance of creating perspective for the viewer. She would simply have to cultivate the right frame of mind among her new subjects. Her past success with her brother buoyed her confidence on that score. Besides, she had a strong motive.

On reflection, she would need to remember to inform Thengel that she had invented within him a sudden burning desire for an exotic hunting cat from the south, or else their conversation with Húnil tomorrow would take a surprising turn for him. Not that he would have to commit to a cat…just to the lady. Who could say? Perhaps he would develop a sudden burning desire for Lady Húnil under the love light that Morwen felt prepared to shed upon them.

Chapter Text

Morwen met Thengel in the entry hall the next day. A servant had just taken his coat. She held out her hands for him to take, giving his fingers a brief squeeze. Judging by the surprised look on his face, she might have squeezed harder than she intended.

"Thengel," she breathed once they were alone. "Thank goodness you're here early."

His eyebrows drooped into a dry expression, replacing the surprise. "Hello, Morwen. Your father's invitation did specify that he wanted to provide me with some brief instructions before the meal," he intoned. "I thought you might know something about that."

"Ah, yes…"

"He also instructed me to look my best." Thengel rocked back on his heels as he plucked at his linen tunic.

Morwen studied the fabric, looking puzzled. The garment had been dyed a deep gray with no embellishments or embroidery. The leather belt that rested over the fabric also lacked stamping, embossing, or braiding. And the buckle looked like brass instead of silver or gold. He wasn't putting on airs, certainly. Not the kind to catch the eye of a potential mate and to suggest he was a man of easy means. Thengel needed lessons from the princes of Belfalas, Morwen reflected…along with a few of their tassels and sweeping sleeves and pointed slippers. Someone had brushed his sturdy boots, at least. In this state, one could only accuse Thengel of being tidy and sensible.

"Is this your best tunic?" she asked.

"No, this is my third best," he drawled, "I refuse to dress like I'm about to be crowned, Morwen. It might give the Powers the wrong idea to hasten events."

That surprised Morwen into a laugh. "Oh."

"Now, tell me, since when does Lord Amarthor care about my mode of dress for an informal noon meal?"

Morwen hoped she looked singularly innocent as she said, "Who doesn't? The whole world is besotted with you, Thengel. Don't you know that?" She hoped that didn't sound like a confession.

Thengel crossed his arms, choosing not to indulge her habit of hyperbole. "One of these days your father's going to find out he's had a long and unusual correspondence with me."

Morwen gave him an urchin grin. "That will be both a surprise and a delight for him." Then she lowered her voice. "Now listen, Thengel, I've found you The One."

Thengel blinked at her. "The what?"

"The woman."

"You'll have to be more specific," he said, unsuccessfully masking some trepidation.

Morwen tamped down her annoyance at his obtuseness. "Your bride, of course. I've invited her to dine with us."

Húnil had dressed more to the point too in a beautiful green silk with only a few black cat hairs stuck to it. Morwen marveled at her new friend's luck in choosing the color of gown, given that she'd provided no hints that Thengel would be joining them. It seemed fated.

"Ah." Thengel stared down the passage toward the dining room looking vaguely pained. "You move quickly. I should have seen it coming." He looked back at her. "Who's the unfortunate soul you've chosen to saddle to me?"

Morwen glowered at him. "The fortunate soul, you mean. This is no time to be self-deprecating."

"A man's allowed a little gallows humor when he's unexpectedly paying court," Thengel droned, glancing down at his tunic again as if contemplated whether or not he should have worn his fourth best instead.

Morwen tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Unexpected? Why else do you think I…I mean, why else would Father invite you for dinner?" Then she touched his arm. "Now, there's a bit of a twist. It turns out you've already met the lady."

Thengel's blank expression indicated that this information hadn't narrowed down the field for him at all.

"Have I?"

Morwen nodded. "Yes. It's a bit of a surprise for me too."

Thengel stepped closer, reaching for her arms. "Morwen."

Morwen pressed a finger against his chest. "So, I want you to very carefully consider everything you think you may know about Lady Húnil and cast it to the wind. See her with fresh eyes." She gave him a toothy smile. "Like I do."

Thengel let go of her abruptly, stepping back. He gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. "Húnil."

"Yes. Lord Ecthelion's cousin."

"I know," he bit off.

Morwen ignored the slight charge to his tone. "I should warn you. She arrived even earlier than you."

"Oh no." Thengel cast his gaze down the passage again. "Do you know what you've unleashed?"

Morwen allowed her expression to show some of the overwhelm she'd felt for the last quarter of an hour. "I'm beginning to see it, yes. She and my father are discussing when to serve beaver at a feast hosted by Lord Eldacar."

"Is Lord Eldacar entertaining much these days?" Thengel asked, with only a slight upturn to his lips. "These are strange times."

Morwen glanced down, biting the inside of her lip for a moment while he enjoyed himself at her expense. "You know what I mean."

"You give me too much credit."

She held up her hands. "The material point, Thengel, is that Húnil wasn't supposed to arrive before you. Now Father's monopolizing the conversation and I'm losing control…don't you dare recite some long-dead general."

"Never occurred to me." Thengel shook his head. "Now tell me how you could allow Húnil to get pulled into one of your father's quagmires?"

"Well…" Morwen sighed. "I realized my mistake had occurred when I described Húnil as a cat lady to Father the evening before."

Thengel raised an eyebrow. "Béma."

"Yes, Béma," Morwen repeated. "Father must have developed notions in his head about what sort of woman that made her. He's had to adjust those notions in a hurry — but you know how he is."

Thengel nodded. "You mean instead of a subdued elderly woman with little conversation, you've presented your family with a lady who uses her voice like a foghorn to…"

"To describe several methods for stalking narnoryth, those southern cousins of the beaver that like to choke the streams in Lebennin," Morwen quoted in one long breath. "Yes. That's how the whole mess started. She mentioned hunting beavers with her cats and Father ran with it in the only manner he knows how."

Scholarly debate until a subject has been thoroughly flogged into the ground.

"He's gabbling over esoteric nonsense and scratching behind his ears again, is he?" Thengel guessed.

"As evidenced by the tufts of hair sticking out around his ears." A sign of nerves he tended to display whenever a situation required small talk. The likes of which Lady Gwereneth and Morwen could not subdue no matter the effort.

"Always a fashionable look," Thengel chuckled.

"The tufts make Father look like a buzzard," Morwen said sharply.

Thengel opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came. He blinked a few times, then shut his mouth again.

"She startled him out of his equanimity within the first five minutes of arriving and now he's trying to get his legs under him," Morwen continued. "Father and Lady Húnil are at this moment engaging in a brief debate as to whether narnoroth tails might or might not have historically classified the creatures as a type of fish."

"Fish." Thengel glanced at the ceiling and made several faces before asking, "But why?"

Morwen rubbed her forehead. "To decide with which course beaver would therefore have been served at the banquet held by King Eldacar, as I've said." When this didn't seem to help him, she added, "You know, the one to honor the Northmen who had helped him regain the throne following the Kin-Strife."

"Oh, that one." Thengel nodded sagely. "Well, that's a question that also keeps me up at night."

Morwen gave him a mildly sour frown. "I should have known that if Father had to speak, he would keep the conversation on his terms. A tactical error on my part, I admit."

"Big of you."

Morwen could see that Thengel refused to be a source of pity. And since she'd given her important instructions, she felt they had no other reason to remain in the hallway…except that something nudged her conscience, but she couldn't remember what. Oh well.

"We'd better go in before Father grows both nervous and hungry. Then he'll really get carried away," she told him. "Now that you're here, he can slip back into morose silence while you entertain Húnil."

"I live to serve." He sounded like he'd rather hang upside from his bootstraps.

Morwen held up a finger. "Remember, give the lady a chance. You promised to give me a fair shake."

"Coming to her rescue isn't enough for one meal?" Thengel asked as he allowed Morwen to thread her arm through his while they walked toward the dining room. Then he stopped. Morwen looked up at him. "Does Húnil know why she's here?"

Morwen thought Thengel's face had lost some of its color. It surprised her to find that he, a sword brother to the Captain of Gondor, might be nervous in the face of True Love.

"And risk scaring her off? Of course not."

"That's considerate of you." He tapped his chest. "What about scaring me off?"

"Before this moment I didn't think you feared anything." She reminded him, "Faint heart never won fair lady."

"Hm." Thengel studied her face. "Now who's quoting long-dead generals?"

"A king consort, actually." Morwen sniffed. "Hallacar who married Tar-Ancalimë…after a bit of trouble."

"That's right. Old Hallacar the sheep boy," he drawled. "Paragon of wedded bliss."

"Says the horse-master." Morwen blocked the door into the dining room. She gripped his forearm. "Listen Thengel, we're about to be overrun by aquatic rats. I need a knight in there. Are you going to come to the rescue or not?"

Thengel's expression turned solemn. "Who now thinks to turn from the warplay," he recited.

"Helm Hammerhand?" she asked.

He looked pleased. "You remembered."

Morwen let go of his arm, turning away to open the door. "Gaeron may have fallen asleep whenever you'd tell stories, but I remember every single one."

…

Rescue proved more difficult than Morwen had reckoned. Lord Amarthor sat entrenched, barely registering his new guest until Gwereneth pointed Thengel out to him with a sharp tone that could cut through chainmail. Lady Húnil greeted Thengel with the easeful good humor she displayed for everyone. And though Morwen made sure Thengel and Húnil were seated side by side, the lady allowed herself to be monopolized by Amarthor again as servants laid out the meal.

"But the question remains, did the ancients consider the beaver a fish in its entirety or merely the tail? The historical record is conflicted on that point," Amarthor continued, insensible to the cooling roast in front of him — happily not beaver. "If the latter, would serving the tail apart from the other meat require separate courses? It begs the question…"

"Lord Amarthor, you're assuming that they would serve the tail at all in a feast. They might have kept the fat like bone marrow, using it as an ingredient," Húnil offered.

Amarthor scratched behind his ear, blinking rapidly at this new culinary angle. "That is a point that must be considered. Yes. Certainly. Only it is regrettable — quite regrettable that receipts from that era are nearly useless to scholars."

"One assumes they were written for an audience who were already proficient in a lord's kitchen and needed only the barest instruction," Húnil opined. "It's the sort of thing I'd write out for my own household."

"You might consider adding a little more detail for posterity," Amarthor said techily, deeply affected for future scholars who'd have to muddle through Lady Húnil's commonplace books.

During this exchange, Thengel's eyes swept from Lord Amarthor to Húnil to Morwen who sat across from him. She chose initially to interpret the glance as gratitude for her efforts in bringing him together with Húnil rather than a sharp criticism of her ability to organize romantic encounters. It wasn't her fault, after all, that a respectable young woman only had so many choices of venue. However, she had to eventually concede that gratitude had nothing to do with the look in his eyes.

Lord Amarthor gripped his goblet like a man obsessed, returning to the material point. "But if the fat were used in a pie, for example, would it then become a fish pie regardless of what else it contained? Or did a certain ratio of ingredients need to be met? What, in fact, constitutes a fish pie?"

During this leg of her father's speech, Morwen cleared her throat. When that produced no effect on Thengel, she tried again. Still nothing. He seemed resolved to mince his meat as finely as possible rather than to listen for a cue from her.

"Morwen, take a sip of water if you have a frog in your throat," her mother muttered under her breath.

That wasn't the attention that Morwen had wanted. She sighed, sliding down a little in her chair before stretching her leg out to tap Thengel's shin. Gently, of course. She'd done it a hundred times to Gaeron without inflicting permanent damage.

Thengel made an odd face before glancing across the table at Morwen. She nodded toward her father and Húnil. Do something!

He set his knife down, taking his time laying his hands in his lap. Then he turned to the head of the table. "Couldn't it be served with the rodent course, my lord?"

The clinking and scraping of cutlery stopped at once. Gwereneth lifted a napkin to her lips. Morwen had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Amarthor blinked at Thengel, a slight tremor in his cheek. "There is no such thing, young man. A rodent course? On a king's menu?"

"My grandfather, Folcwine, had a fondness for squirrel," Thengel explained as he resumed mincing his food, oblivious to the consternation he'd stirred up. "It's a specialty in Dunharrow. Perhaps an acquired taste. The mountain squirrels tend toward leanness, but anything caught near Fangorn, for example, can be a little musty."

"Do you suppose their tails could be classified as something other than rodent?" Amarthor asked after a pause. "A bird, for example?"

"I believe not." Thengel short Morwen another look that seemed to say that he'd made his contribution and now she had better think of something to divert her father.

Morwen conceded that her father's monopolizing of the conversation did little to give her romantic charges the proper environment in which to bloom as lovers. Perhaps with a real robust affection, rodent tails would not prove an obstacle. But without that foundation already established, Morwen could see narnoryth choking the spark she had hoped to cultivate during the meal, not unlike the river Celos. She girded herself to enter the fray.

"Father, did not King Eldacar's sire marry a woman from the north?" she asked, looking into her wine glass. She glanced up and smiled at Húnil, but caught Thengel giving her a knowing frown that suggested he understood the broad hint.

"Yes, child, and it caused a civil war," Lord Amarthor replied stolidly. "A very foolish alliance by all accounts."

Morwen exhaled slowly, losing patience with her father for failing to cooperate in a project he knew nothing about. He must have a romantic bone somewhere in his body. After all, he had succeeded in marrying her mother. On reflection, that might explain its disappearance…

"The marriage caused a civil war?" Thengel asked with a hint of winter bite in his tone, "Or did it give those already inclined to strife a pretext for starting one?"

Amarthor steepled his fingers, looking oblivious to the undercurrent in Thengel's tone. "The inferiority of her blood threatened the strength of the future kings. What else could the barons do if their sovereign would not heed their advice?"

Morwen felt the romantic atmosphere corrode further. Honestly, fish-tailed rodents had been a better choice. Her father certainly presented a very damp cloth. And she felt that Thengel couldn't help but feel insulted. The Northmen were kin to the Rohirrim.

"I don't recall the descendants of Númenor complaining about inferior blood when they formed a pact with Eorl, a Northman," Thengel reflected. "Or when that blood spilled in the defense of the Poros crossing."

There. A spark — but entirely the wrong kind. Morwen recognized the casual tone from Gaeron's stories of Thengel. Gaeron had called it the calm before the storm. It promised to be quite a gale.

"I think it's romantic that Valacar chose to marry Vidumavi regardless of what people thought," Morwen broke in. "And it didn't have any effect on their offspring's vitality, after all."

Amarthor scoffed. "I don't suppose you would call getting murdered an effect on vitality," he pointed out, bringing her attention to Valacar's grandson who ultimately paid the price for the alliance.

"Well…"

"Morwen, it would have been better if Valacar had heeded his barons' advice, forgotten the lady, and found a suitable wife of good stock back at home." Amarthor added gravely, "It is the duty of a king to put his kingdom before his personal feelings."

Morwen felt herself blushing over her father's careless and insensitive and old-fashioned opinions over bloodlines. One glance at Lady Húnil, at least, showed that the woman listened to the exchange with amusement. Morwen couldn't say the same about Thengel, who had the countenance of a gathering storm.

"Perhaps Valacar could not behave so coolly," Thengel offered, staring into his wine glass as Morwen had done. "After all, he had lived for some time among the people of Rhovanion, growing to love them as he absorbed their language and culture."

Morwen gave him an encouraging smile when he did look up. But this line of thinking proved too much for Lord Amarthor's scholarly point of view. Still, her father did have the self-preserving instincts — eventually — not to argue too finely with the future Lord of the Mark. Morwen caught her father giving her mother a beseeching look across the table to help him crawl out of the ditch he'd dug.

"Perhaps," said Lady Gwereneth, giving everyone but Lady Húnil a reproving glare for bringing up Gondor's more sordid history when they had a new acquaintance in their midst. "Whatever this long-dead king's personal feelings might have been, they hardly warrant discussing murder and kin strife at the table. Forgive us, Lady Húnil."

"Pish, nothing like a little murder and intrigue to encourage digestion. You'd be very surprised what comes up in Ecthelion's dining room," Húnil replied with the cheer of an otter — a rodent that, like the beaver, was almost certainly a fish too. "I take Morwen's point of view of old Valacar. He knew what he wanted and didn't let a bunch of stuffy old bigots stop him."

Morwen buoyed under Húnil's support. Of course, a woman who could fearlessly clip a large cat's nails wouldn't be cowed by her parents or prove too delicate to discuss the less savory moments of Gondor's history. And perhaps Húnil had the good sense to take Thengel's short speech to heart.

Chapter Text

Lord Amarthor abandoned his family and guests shortly after the meal in search of any essays in his collection on the topic of animal classification. Morwen didn't mind seeing the back of him. His presence wasn't necessary for her plan to succeed — and in fact, seemed to be detrimental — though she wished he had taken her mother with him. The heir to Rohan would have to fend for himself with the ladies under the eagle eye of Lady Gwereneth, who seemed seriously displeased with the conversation so far.

As the party shifted into Gwereneth's sitting room, Morwen recalled that she had meant to remember something. She could feel it like an itch that she couldn't reach all through the meal. It had pestered her ever since she greeted Thengel at the door to let him know about the first flush of her success on his behalf.

Morwen gave up trying to remember so that she could make sure to arrange Thengel and Húnil together on the sofa that stood the farthest from Gwereneth. Then she wedged herself in next to Thengel so she could supervise. It made for a tight fit. The couch really only held two comfortably and Thengel had broad shoulders.

"So, the two of you met at the wedding," Thengel said, giving Morwen a look that suggested he would play along, but that her choice of seating left much to be desired.

Húnil answered for Morwen. "Introduced, yes. But we met properly yesterday when this young lady helped me bribe Nahtar with a dish of liver. I ran out of dried sardines, you know."

"Morwen is nothing if not helpful," Thengel drawled.

"And she doesn't stand upon ceremony."

Thengel nodded. "I've noticed that too."

Morwen felt his elbow nudge her ribs, which might have been the result of the seating arrangements, but she returned the favor in case it wasn't. Her elbows were bonier so she felt she could win if a skirmish developed.

Húnil edged a little further against the armrest, adjusting her skirts. She addressed Thengel. "Morwen tells me you have a keen interest in taking on one of my cats."

Morwen sucked in a breath. That's what she meant to remember! Stars and sea kings. She bit her lip, waiting for Thengel to expose her falsehood.

A brief pause ensued. Then Thengel said, "Morwen is an expert in my interests. She sometimes knows them before I do," he replied, glancing glacially her way.

Morwen gazed back at him through large eyes that she hoped looked singularly innocent and perhaps claircognizant.

And slightly apologetic.

Thengel crossed his legs in an effort to take up less room. He leaned back as if to keep an eye on both women in the event of more surprises. "I have heard Ecthelion's enthusiasm for these desert cats."

Húnil swatted the air with an elegant though scratched hand. "Oh, my cousin has plenty of enthusiasm, but he has yet to take one on. I can't think why."

"I shouldn't think large cats would be very popular in Gondor," Gwereneth sniffed.

Húnil laughed despite her hostess's starched tone. "What, because of Old Berúthiel? Nonsense. It's doubtful even half of the stories about her are true. They sound like the propaganda of old men against a woman who refused to do as she was told and accept the fate handed to her."

Morwen's mother smoothed her skirts. Gwereneth did not look as if she wanted to continue contradicting her guest, yet could not help her instincts. Morwen found herself enjoying the interesting spot in which Húnil had placed her mother.

"That's hardly an excuse to go spying on people."

"If I had to marry some stuffy old king from another country," Húnil boomed good-naturedly, "I'd set my cats on people too."

Morwen choked and had to cough into her sleeve. When it didn't seem likely to stop, Gwereneth crossed the room to apply the usual treatment. Her mother's slaps on her back seemed to be weighted with bricks. Thengel squeezed off of the couch and brought Morwen something to drink from somewhere. She thanked him but decided it was best not to meet his eyes immediately.

While she finished her water, Thengel deposited himself into a chair next to Morwen, ignoring the look she shot him for evading her seating arrangements. His face looked serene as he pointedly did not meet her eye this time. Húnil gave a contented sigh as she allowed herself to take up more space on the cushion.

"What would you consider to be their advantage over the traditional pack of hounds or falcon hunting?" he asked Húnil, resuming the conversation, sparing Morwen the need to rush her recovery in order to play hostess.

"Oh well," she said in rounded tones. "On the one hand, cats are far more discrete than a pack of baying hounds. Quite patient when stalking their prey, totally silent, and then deadly fast once the timing is right. On the other hand, they're disloyal little bastards who won't come when called." She laughed merrily. "That's how I know the stories about Berúthiel can't be true, Lady Gwereneth. No cat would tolerate such treatment. They'd leave her for the first doorway offering milk and tuna."

"Undoubtedly, they prefer not to be herded." Thengel accidentally tapped Morwen's shoe with his boot. At least, she thought it was accidental. Still, she felt the hint of color rising on her throat. "I don't suppose they pack hunt, Lady Húnil?" he asked.

Húnil shook her head. "In the wild, lions may but not these smaller cats. They're loners. Understand, it isn't about an efficient hunt but the novelty, Thengel."

"It would have to be."

Húnil's eyes had an interesting glint in them that Morwen found promising. "Hounds and falcons and traps are all expedient methods for bringing in a variety of game, but where's the fun in the tried and true?"

"That's my feeling entirely," Thengel agreed.

Morwen felt the undercurrent was directed at her methods and stepped in to curb Thengel. The wretch seemed more inclined to laugh than to fall in love. Later she would remind him that he promised to cooperate. Until then, it fell to her to put all of Húnil's good qualities on display.

"When did you begin breeding cats?" she asked Húnil.

"About a decade ago, say a year or two after I came of age."

"What dedication," Morwen praised.

That put Húnil near the perfect age Morwen had predicted for Thengel's wife. She gave him a triumphant smile so he would know how well she had done. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling as if he was struggling to keep his composure. Morwen didn't blame him. It must be a little awkward to fall in love in her mother's drawing room in front of other people.

"It sounds like such a lot to manage on top of running an estate," Morwen noted. "You must have a trove of experience by now."

"A good deal, yes."

"Is it very expensive to raise cats like Nahtar?" Morwen asked.

Húnil snorted, causing Gwereneth to startle and look askance. "Oh, yes. What they consume in fresh meat alone could tip the balance in a household. It has to be raw if they can't hunt, you know, so best if it's butchered on the premises to avoid contamination and rot. Of course, in the spring I can turn them loose on the rabbits threatening to overrun Ecthelion's grounds. It's winter that generates the most cost. Fortunately, I'm not hurting for funds."

"How fortunate for you," said Morwen. "Don't you think, Thengel?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes but spoke to Húnil. "In your opinion, how do these large cats mingle with horses?"

"Ah, that would be a deciding factor for you," Húnil responded complacently. "It is said that the Southrons will ride into battle against one another with their cats in the vaward. But then, in the South, war horses and cats would be raised and trained together. Introducing a large predator to established herds? You will know better than I, Thengel, how that would go."

"I would definitely say it's best to introduce them young," he replied. "Otherwise you risk spooking them."

Morwen cleared her throat. "Are all of your cats black like Nahtar?"

Húnil grinned fondly. "Oh, a black coat is my preference."

"Mine as well," Thengel muttered.

"And that's what I breed for, but you get some lovely tawny spotted coats too. Those are the more natural coloring. I don't much care for a solid dun coat you get on the plains cats. Too common. Too yellow."

Thengel's lips twitched. "Hm. Sensible view of yellow."

Morwen regretted that Thengel now sat out of reach of her elbows.

"Of course, sometimes you can't help the way the kittens come out no matter how hard you try." Húnil shook her head even as she grinned. "I had a tom who used to get out of his enclosure regularly before I realized he had damaged the latch. Several litters turned out to be quite the mixed bag. He certainly gave me a lot of trouble."

"That's a tom for you," Thengel contributed.

"Do you sell many cats?" Morwen asked, shifting the conversation away from coloring and breeding. It wasn't going the way she had hoped.

"Not often. I breed them for love, not money. They're like children to me. I can be persuaded, however, to part with one or two if the buyer is worthy."

Morwen stirred at this. "What do you consider a worthy buyer?"

"Yes, everyone has their list," Thengel added.

Morwen's shoe accidentally tapped his boot. He covered his mouth as if prepared to listen very carefully. Morwen observed that he had his eyes fixed with great determination on Húnil, even if she had detected a certain rebellious tone. At last, the woman had piqued his interest, whatever might be going through his head.

"Well, they must take a big cat like Nahtar seriously. They're quite dangerous when not properly handled. If left to themselves, they could attack a person unawares and get into any manner of mischief."

Thengel nodded. "I could see that occurring, yes. Especially unawares." Another shoe tap. Then he said, "I don't suppose they're very good in a household, particularly the young ones."

"Oh, kittens will turn your house upside down," Húnil answered fondly. "And cats of all ages do shed all over the furniture and have a tendency to scratch. On the bright side, they do keep the bed warm."

"Happy thought," he said blandly.

"Have you considered moving the kennels to Minas Tirith where you might have more clientele?" Morwen interjected, feeling that Thengel might not be taking this information in the proper light.

"I could, but have you ever heard cats during their mating rituals? Huh. Very noisy lovers. The neighbors would complain about the caterwauling."

"Caterwauling?" Morwen asked.

Húnil imitated one of the sounds for their benefit. Gwereneth didn't seem to know which way to look. Morwen caught Thengel's eyes and gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed the message that she had found him a treasure. There wasn't a single woman in Gondor who had the talent to make a sound like that besides Húnil.

However, Morwen could also tell that her mother felt extremely ill at ease. To show Gwereneth that she had paid attention to her etiquette lessons, she directed the conversation away from the cats.

She addressed Thengel. "Húnil says that you've been renovating your home."

Thengel regarded her through eyes that seemed a little moist. "Yes, after twenty years it seemed like the time."

"What improvements are you making?" Gwereneth asked with a determination to prolong a subject she could tolerate.

"I have builders taking down some walls between bedrooms to put in a bath and a suite."

"These new bridal suites are becoming more popular," Húnil remarked.

Morwen stared at Thengel in surprise. "Is that specifically what they're called?"

"It's implied," Húnil answered for him. "Why else would you need room for a great big tub?" She winked at Morwen.

Morwen gave Thengel a considering glance. "Fascinating." She wasn't entirely sure what an enlarged tub had to do with anything, but this didn't seem like the time for an explanation. "What else are you having done?"

Thengel plucked at his collar. "The rest of the principal bedrooms will be patched and I've enlarged one or two of them."

"What, all of them have work? That sounds expensive," said Húnil. "Well, I suppose they haven't had much use since you purchased the place. How many rooms would there be in your house? You've just disposed of two with the new suite. That leaves another floor of spare rooms and a nursery or, I suppose that would be another spare room in your case. Quite an undertaking." Húnil nodded with the gravity of a woman who had long had the running of a house. "I suppose you have to sleep in the drawing room," she joked.

"No, that's having work done as well. I am told that the drawing room is outdated."

"That is a thorough gutting." Húnil harrumphed. "I suppose you sleep in the stables, then?"

"That is the natural habitat of uncouth Northmen," Thengel sniffed.

Húnil's lips curled. "So I've heard."

"What do you mean outdated?" Morwen asked, returning to the subject at hand. She had the feeling the two were flirting with one another, which was just as well, but she didn't like to be edged out while they were doing it.

He glanced at her. "The plaster is in poor shape and the floorboards are to be replaced. There's also some custom shelves I wished to have installed. I am told that the head of the house should sit facing west instead of east nowadays, so all the furniture will be shifted along with the lighting."

"Won't that be rather blinding in the afternoon?" Gwereneth said.

"My architect has talked of awnings."

"What if a person doesn't have any windows facing west?" Morwen asked.

"Move, I expect," he jested. "Fortunately, whoever built the house initially had some inkling of shifting fashions and put windows on all sides but the interior, of course."

"Lucky for you until the fashion turns toward interiors," Morwen replied.

He smiled at her. "Maybe by then tastes will shift from using rooms at all and everyone will entertain guests on the staircase."

Morwen laughed. "Why wait? You could start the fashion now. As a lord and heir to a throne, you are in a prime position to become a tastemaker."

"But I'm a bachelor," he reminded her. "None of the housewives will take my example very seriously."

Morwen gave him a meaningful look. "All the more reason to get a wife."

"So you've been telling me, Morwen."

Morwen thought her mother looked like she wanted to explore that comment and not in a good way, so she quickly asked, "Are you really sleeping in the stables?"

"And get trampled by Baranroch?" Thengel laughed. "No, there are some attic rooms I didn't have the heart or the coin to touch."

"Don't the servants mind?" It seemed like a lot of stairs to climb in order to look after him.

Thengel shrugged. "The alternative was pitching a tent in the courtyard. My housekeeper drew the line at field duty."

"Understandable," Morwen sympathized without having met the woman. "Why are you making all of these improvements now? Why not a year ago?" Then she hastily added, "or five years?"

They looked at one another for a moment.

"Five years ago it had not occurred to me," he answered. "And…a…there's the property value to consider."

Morwen squinted at him. "Since when…"

"Does he need any reason other than that it will make his home more comfortable?" Gwereneth said, either coming to Thengel's rescue or rebuking them both.

It was at that moment that Morwen realized they had inched out her mother and Húnil from the conversation. So much for etiquette. And one glance out the window to see the angle of the sunlight told her that their time was coming to a close soon. Gwereneth would insist on keeping the visit to the exact length dictated by propriety, even if Thengel wasn't properly primed to fall in love with Húnil yet.

"Perhaps we can continue our conversation another time," Morwen said. "It should be good weather for riding. Why not a little tour of the Pelennor? Do you enjoy horseback riding, Lady Húnil?"

"I adore a good gallop now and again."

"Excellent." Morwen smiled. "I'm sure Thengel could arrange it for us with the stables."

Thengel gave Morwen a look of surprise. She knew that he knew that she was not a great rider. But that was a virtue in this instance as it meant the intended lovers would speedily leave her behind.

"Would tomorrow suit you?" Morwen asked before he could argue or suggest a different idea.

"Oh, I can't tomorrow," Húnil drawled. "I've promised the afternoon to Ecthelion and then there's a smaller function at Tower Hall in the evening that Lord Turgon's insisting on. You'll be there, won't you?" she asked Thengel.

Thengel sighed. "Now that you've reminded me, yes."

"Oh." Morwen tapped her chin, considering how she could maneuver them from a distance.

Húnil misunderstood her abstraction. "Thengel or I could see about getting you an invitation. Ecthelion's wife should be able to fix it for us."

Gwereneth intercepted. "Our family has had quite the excitement with the wedding. I think we could use a quiet evening in."

Morwen pressed her lips into a thin line. Was this her mother's idea of penance? She should have realized the lack of lectures yesterday would come back to haunt her.

"Morwen's too young to need a quiet evening," Húnil protested with a laugh. "I would be happy to keep her in my care at the reception if you'd prefer to stay home. My waiting woman will be in attendance."

Morwen could tell that her mother did not think a woman who could caterwaul in a respectable house a fit chaperone, but she wasn't about to risk offending a cousin of the Steward.

"I suppose Morwen may go if an invitation were issued," Gwereneth surrendered, perhaps unable to think of a polite way to refuse.

"I would be so grateful," Morwen said to Húnil. "Do you know Thengel and I have yet to share a dance…" she stopped rattling on when she realized this was not helpful information.

Húnil glanced benignly between Morwen and Thengel. "Then you must have one," she told them.

"The first one, if you'll have me," Thengel said cheerfully.

Morwen regretted her idle chatter and knew she had to make a sacrifice here. "Oh, but perhaps you might not be able to secure another invitation. The two of you should get the first dance since that is guaranteed."

By the set of his jaw, Thengel looked inclined to be stubborn. Morwen blinked up at him in the way she would when she wished to maneuver Gaeron a certain way. After a moment Thengel turned away from Morwen and graciously asked Húnil for the first dance, which she accepted.

With that success, Morwen decided to see how far her luck could extend. "And then we can enjoy a lovely ride the day after. Perhaps Húnil could grace us with a demonstration of Nahtar's skills?"

Húnil grinned. "I'm always happy to show him off."

"Would the day after tomorrow suit you?" Morwen asked.

"Perfectly."

Morwen turned to her other guest. "Thengel?"

Thengel's shoulders might have drooped a little, but it was difficult to tell. "I'm at your disposal."

Morwen offered him a smile and murmured, "That's true."

…

Lady Húnil departed shortly after they had arranged their next two outings. Gwereneth, though pleading a headache, had the grace to escort Thengel to the door before she retreated up the stairs to her rooms. Morwen lingered in the hall with Thengel so she could offer some parting advice once her mother disappeared over the top of the stairs.

There had not been as strong a spark between her protégés as she had hoped. But then, Lord Amarthor's house seemed especially dampening to budding lovers. She reflected that might explain why Gaeron tended to seek out Tathren during their courtship rather than the other way around. Morwen should have considered that. Fortunately, however, a reception would be a very suitable place for Thengel and Húnil to express their admiration in an open manner. And after that? The seclusion of the slopes and terraces of the Pelennor would coax them the rest of the way out of their shells.

"Now that Mother's gone you can thank me for organizing everything so beautifully," she congratulated herself. Not counting the meal they'd just shared, of course. But there were always bound to be little mishaps, she philosophized.

Thengel looked more likely to jab her with his elbow again. "You certainly have everyone dancing to your own tune," he reflected. "Except, perhaps, for your father."

"It may be my tune, but it's for your benefit." Then Morwen said, baldly, "I think so highly of Húnil. Don't you?"

Thengel crossed his arms, regarding Morwen through his icy blue eyes. She had known him long enough not to be intimidated.

"She's a pleasant woman," he allowed. "A little eccentric, but I knew you'd have a nose for that. Still, I can't say I'm exactly ready to sign my heart over to her as eagerly as you might wish."

Morwen brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Anyone with specialized knowledge on a given subject may appear eccentric to anyone with a generalist's temperament," she intoned, somewhat reminiscent of Amarthor. "I'm only happy that I found you a partner that I'll enjoy getting to know better."

Thengel gave her a wry look. "Oh? I don't remember that from your list."

"It goes without saying, Thengel. I can hardly find you a wife that I can't tolerate. Once you are married, I will have to visit her instead of you."

"You have considered all the angles, haven't you," he noted dryly. "Although I question your judgment on the cats."

"A minor detail. Tomorrow you can observe her in a more romantic light without Father droning on and Mother wheezing in the corner. Don't write off my efforts just yet."

He uncrossed his arms in order to retrieve his overcoat from a servant who had been hovering nearby with it. Once they were alone again, he said, "I promise to keep an open mind tomorrow. Just remember the terms of our agreement."

"Yes. No hard feelings," she repeated. "Only consider that I know you very well."

"And yet with all of your interesting skills as a caricaturist," he responded with a trace of annoyance that she wasn't accustomed to. "Is it possible that you might display some willful blindness?"

Morwen's eyes widened as if to prove otherwise. "Not that I can see."

He shook his head.

"Now, don't worry too much about tomorrow." She patted his arm. "Just show her all your good qualities."

"Besides the crown, what are those?" he asked.

Morwen smiled. "Maturity and experience."

Thengel's expression shuttered.

She reached for his arm again. "Oh, and Thengel, you needn't try too hard to secure another invitation for me."

He scanned her face like a man looking for a potential trap. "And why not?"

"It isn't as if you need my supervision at your age," she answered lightly.

"No indeed," he replied almost tartly. "But remember I still have to make up for the iniquity of last year."

The reference to Thengel's absence affected Morwen like a pond after someone had drooped a stone into its smooth surface. She felt it drop and seem to ripple through her.

"Oh, that." Morwen waved a hand as she turned away to step toward the door so she could open it for him. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. You're forgiven for your absence if that helps."

"Well, I'm beginning not to forgive myself," he muttered, giving an oddly impatient jerk to his coat as he put it on. She worried he'd rip a seam if he didn't take care. He joined her by the door.

"If you're so plagued with guilt, then I suppose you could make it up to me." She held up a finger. "If you can bear to part from Húnil for a set."

Thengel gave her a look that could have been considered a glower on Gaeron. "I'll try not to let it kill me."

"Do you feel like it might?" That seemed like a definite sign of love. "Then I don't advise you to part with her for a moment. As this is love that we're trying to cultivate, you'd be forgiven for monopolizing her. I'm content to run interference on your behalf in the event that she's much sought after."

Thengel sighed and gave her arms a parting squeeze. "Until tomorrow night, Morwen. Try not to do anything too hair-raising…like showing up on my doorstep with a leopard."

"I wouldn't presume. Hold on." She fixed the collar of his coat that had gotten tucked underneath when he had forced it on earlier. She smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, then stepped out of his way on the threshold. "There. Until tomorrow…contingent on an invitation," she reminded him as he passed by.

"I guarantee you'll have one," he said over his shoulder.

Morwen stood on the step, watching the back of him as he crossed the dooryard toward the gate. "Don't go to any trouble," she called. "I did secure you that first dance with Húnil. The rest is up to you."

He waved without looking back.

After he disappeared beyond the gate, she shut the door behind her. As she went upstairs to her room, she cringed at the silly way she'd nearly bungled the whole thing by occasionally monopolizing Thengel's attention. She wasn't accustomed to sharing it with anyone but Gaeron. And what of bringing up last year? Leave it to a considerate woman like Húnil to mistake that comment about dancing as a need for assistance. Morwen decided to become really determined to forgive Thengel so that she wouldn't slip again. How hard could it be if she set her mind to it?

Chapter Text

Two invitations appeared for Morwen the next morning. The first arrived with a note of assurance that Lady Húnil would come to carry her away at sundown. The other appeared directly from the Tower without an accompanying message but Morwen understood it to be the direct result of Thengel’s efforts. He needn’t have bothered. She had told him not to. 

Satisfied that the evening’s details were fixed in duplicate, Morwen could then regard with serenity a morning and afternoon spent with her mother. Lady Gwereneth’s object for the day involved last-minute purchases to be sent home to Lossarnach. Despite her family’s tradition of wintering in the city, it would be their last time in Minas Tirith until next spring. Therefore the quest to lay in supplies would be considerable. Gwereneth tended to shop with the attitude of a falcon in the dive which usually rendered Morwen’s assistance unnecessary except to offer pitying smiles to the merchants. Yet, her mother insisted on her company so Morwen contrived a plan to make this more bearable. 

In the brief moments when Morwen wasn’t managing Thengel’s new romance, she had contrived to convert some of her gowns into Húnil’s style. It hadn’t been too difficult, only she regretted the placement of the pockets. She had made the inserts a little too low, the result being that the small but heavy commonplace book that Gaeron had gifted her upon her twenty-first birthday tended to bounce against her knee in an aggravating fashion when she walked with her mother between stalls and warehouses. 

They had visited the wine merchant and acquired salt, spices, and other supplies. Carts would already be forming a queue outside of the townhouse on the fifth circle. Now her mother wished to visit another wholesaler’s warehouse to purchase finer fabric than could be gotten from Amarthor’s manor. 

While they were waiting to be helped by the mercer, Gwereneth began a recital on the merits of this particular cloth merchant over the others. The fabric rarely warped and the bolts were a good four fingers wider though all the merchants claimed to carry the standard width.  

“Of course, it’s a baseless claim as there’s no such thing,” Gwereneth lectured. “It may not seem significant, but when you take in the amount of fabric the manor uses every year it all adds up to a significant loss.” 

Morwen took the opportunity to retrieve her book and the traveling pouch of pencils from between the folds of her garment. She selected a black pencil. Gwereneth looked askance, at first. 

“Morwen, are you listening to me?” 

“Yes, Mother,” she answered as she made her first strokes. “With the difference in fingers, you’re looking at a loss of over four hundred silver pieces over five years. Although in your case I expect that you’ll shake him down a few silver pieces per yard, so the difference may be less.” 

Morwen caught her mother staring at her in surprise. Then Gwereneth glanced at the drawing. Seeing the subject, her mother found something else to vent her spleen. 

“I’ll have my hands full organizing all of this tonight.” Gwereneth waved her meticulous list in emphasis. “I wish you had not ignored me by accepting Lady Húnil’s invitation.” 

“Mother, you’ve done this a hundred times before,” Morwen soothed. “I believe you could direct the packing in your sleep. Besides, it’s Tathren’s place to sort the household goods now rather than mine.” 

“Tathren is…occupied with other things at the moment, not to mention already in Lossarnach.” She added, "Regardless of the addition of Gaeron’s wife, you’re still a member of this household — and you may be for life if you can’t get your nose out of that sketchbook.” 

“I don’t plan to keep my nose in it tonight,” Morwen assured…although she had also sewn pockets into her best gown just in case.  

“Morwen, I am not at all pleased about that invitation. Perhaps I want the night off after months of wedding preparations. Perhaps I want you home so that you can manage the packing for once so that I can put my feet up.” 

Morwen tried to picture this strange scenario that her mother had envisioned and failed. “You’ve tried delegating to me before but after two minutes you swoop in because you don’t like my methods. How will tonight be any different?” 

Gwereneth sniffed. “It’s generous calling what you do a method. If I take over it’s because I want our goods to make it to Lossarnach without being lost, ruined, or forgotten.” 

A playful gleam appeared in Morwen’s eyes. “And I am determined that they should be lost, ruined, or forgotten. So we are at cross purposes and I had better spend my evening dancing and matchmaking.” 

Her mother could not feel satisfied with this speech, as shown by the firm press of her lips that might have been holding back a few choice words. “Matchmaking, indeed. You have grown up to be quite provoking, Morwen. Any man who marries you will have much to contend with.” 

“Agreed,” Morwen said with a decisive stroke of her pencil. “I’m sure I don’t know anyone who’s up to the challenge anyway.” 

Morwen’s observation stopped her mother short, but she knew it was only temporary. She barely brushed the paper with her pencil as she added shading to her portrait and waited for the next speech. 

“Married life is a challenge even for the steadiest of women,” Gwereneth stated eventually, “which is an adjective I would not use to classify you, even if you can occasionally surprise me by rattling off figures. The household will depend on you. There are children to manage. And the expectations of the neighborhood, not to mention the family at large. If you think I pressure you, then just watch out, my girl. People your age think they know everything, but you don’t — especially when you ignore my counsel by drawing.” 

Morwen frowned down at her sketch of Nahtar. “I must know something or else what was all that education for?” 

“You tell me.” 

Morwen switched to a red pencil and began sketching the rat that Nahtar had enjoyed in Lady Renneth’s garden. “Well, I always hear you say that the hardest part of running a household is directing people. But you’re so efficient, I never get a chance to try managing anything at home. So, consider my experiment with Thengel — ”

“Lord Thengel.” Gwereneth glanced around them. But there wasn’t anyone around who could have heard Morwen’s overfamiliarity. 

“Yes, think of Lord Thengel and Lady Húnil as my practice managing people…without treading on your hems while I’m doing it.”  

Gwereneth looked slightly mollified. “While I question your methods and your sense of propriety, I suppose your motivation isn’t completely ridiculous.” 

“Thank you, Mother. That was nearly a compliment.” Then more seriously, she said, “I know you think I don’t listen to a word you say, but sketching helps me focus. I have no desire to grow up a fool or to discredit the family.” 

“That may be regarded as the best-kept secret of the ages,” Gwereneth intoned.

…

As the afternoon progressed toward evening, the weather began to turn, bringing moist air from the coast. Morwen and her mother debated the merits of wearing a cloak and hood until Lady Húnil arrived to collect Morwen at sundown as agreed. A comfortable-looking older woman accompanied her in one of the hand-drawn carts that were available for hire in the city. It required squashing together, but they managed to all fit. 

“Our dresses will be creased, I’m afraid,” Húnil pointed out. “What would you call the color of yours? Amethyst or….?” 

“It’s nearly indigo,” Morwen answered as she smoothed out the impossibly thin fabric of her pleated skirt over her knees, watching the shade shift subtly.

“You look like the deep end of a sunset,” Húnil flattered her. “Very regal. I approve of the daring neckline.”

Morwen glanced down at herself. It was a daring neckline. One might say it plunged toward the slim silver belt clasped high on her waist. She’d ordered it that way with a certain audience in mind. Unfortunately, the only one to enjoy it at her presentation last year had been the Steward during that knee-breaking curtsy she’d had to make. 

If Morwen looked like a sunset then Húnil looked like high noon. She wore a gold dress that pinched off low on her waist before flaring down like a lily. Someone had dressed her hair in elaborate twists held together by a set of handsome combs inlaid with abalone that enhanced the beautiful highlights in her hair. Morwen approved of the way the coif hid Húnil’s split ends. She had spent a few moments during her afternoon preparations clipping away a few of her own since she had no intention of confining her hair which lay over her shoulders like a silky cloak made of dusk. 

It occurred suddenly to Morwen that she looked exactly as she had a year ago on a similar but miserable evening. She sighed. Maybe she should have done something different with her hair. 

“Now, it’s only a little way to the citadel. My dear, I don’t know which of the guests you’ll be acquainted with tonight,” Húnil said with some concern, perhaps mistaking Morwen’s sigh. “It’s a rather select group. If you’d like, I could cancel my promise to Thengel and let you have that first dance after all.” 

“Oh no!” Morwen nearly yelped. “You must keep your promise to Thengel. I’m very capable of shifting for myself.” 

“If you insist. There’s Lhindis here to assist you too.” 

Morwen glanced across Húnil to her companion just in time to witness a colossal yawn. At least the woman wouldn’t be an obstacle. Morwen didn’t quite know what measures she’d have to take on Thengel’s behalf but scrutiny from responsible matrons wouldn’t be a benefit, she felt. 

Before long, the cart stopped in a queue of other such vehicles letting off well-dressed passengers on their way to the reception. One of the citadel guards assisted them with climbing down from the cart. 

“Nearly there,” Húnil trilled when they passed the rest of the guards flanking the tunnel entrance. “It’ll only be a few more steps to Tower Hall.” 

As they passed through the darkened tunnel, Morwen took the opportunity to fix a few crushed pleats and brush off any cat hairs she might have picked up from Húnil. When they emerged, Morwen exhaled appreciably at the sight of the fountain yard lit up for the occasion. 

“Well look, there’s Thengel to meet us.” Húnil gave her a speculating glance. “It’s your last chance to change your mind.”

Morwen followed her friend’s line of sight. Thengel waited near the fountain, speaking with some acquaintances. He wore a fine tunic in cobalt and embroidered with gold. The longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck blended almost perfectly with the gold thread. There was something about that cool northern coloring that set off the blue becomingly — objectively speaking, Morwen thought, as someone interested in the way colors played with one another. It must be his second-best tunic. 

She swallowed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“It’s no skin off my knuckles, you know,” Húnil assured her. 

Morwen almost laughed. She felt certain that Húnil had lost plenty of her skin to Nahtar. “Another time. Tonight is all about you.” 

“Not really. Old Turgon’s holding the reception in honor of some ministers from Wilderland,” Húnil explained affably as they approached the fountain, Morwen’s hint sailing right over her head.  

“Wilderland?” Morwen asked with interest. “It’s such a long way to travel. What is the nature of their visit?”  

“I believe they are seeking notice from the Steward to legitimize the lord they want to make a king,” Húnil explained.  

It felt dangerously close to turning into a discussion of beavers, but Morwen decided to voice her question anyway. “I didn’t know Rhovanion had any kings, not since the Plague.” 

“The man did slay a dragon. They have to put him in charge of something,” Húnil chuckled. “Who’s going to gainsay this Bard fellow in alderman meetings now?” 

Morwen smiled at that. “I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it before now.”  

Of course, there had been rumors circulating over the last year or two about a dragon attack in the north, followed by an invasion of orcs and wolves — even bats. Morwen hadn’t completely credited something like that occurring during her lifetime. 

The stories seemed outlandish from her position cocooned in Lossarnach where wolves and bears had been driven out long ago, let alone goblins. She often thought they could be in some danger if the squirrels ever organized but that had yet to come to pass. Fortunately, she believed this strange tale from the north reflected only a last dying ember from ages past when the world seemed much less certain or civilized. Creatures like dragons could now fade thoroughly into myth…along with true adventures and daring feats. The glory of Gondor might be fading but so were its enemies.  

“Did their lord accompany them?” Morwen asked, feeling very curious to see a dragon killer with her own eyes. There wouldn’t be any other chances. 

“No. Apparently, the man’s up to his eyes rebuilding Dale.” Húnil lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “The blather around the citadel, however, is that he’s a bit of a shroud-hanger and his ministers thought he might spoil relations between our countries if left to himself.” 

Morwen laughed, especially considering Thengel’s descriptions of Lord Turgon over the years. The Steward seemed to be made almost entirely out of starch. It made her think the two might get along. 

“I suppose you’d have to be a bit grim to face a dragon.” 

“Too true.” Then Húnil mused, “Although I think I’d be more nervous to meet the Elves who participated in the battle afterward.” 

“Would you?” Morwen could not picture Lady Húnil cowed by anyone. 

“Oh yes, it would be like meeting Prince Angelimir but magnified by a thousand. Could you imagine me being presented to an Elf king while covered in cat hair?” Húnil chortled. “Ecthelion would never let me hear the end of it.” 

Morwen laughed again. An Elf king might be intimidating but she had never found her cousins to be so, even with their illustrious heritage. But then, Morwen shared that heritage. 

She remembered at eight years old having very frank conversations about ears with Cousin Angelimir when her family had traveled out for Prince Aglahad’s funeral. Angelimir had shared fellow feelings with her regarding that physical family trait. He had kindly slipped her some pieces of soft, brightly colored candy wrapped in waxed paper during one of the many droning ceremonies she’d wilted through. Morwen had liked Angelimir ever since — especially as he had not made her share the candy with his son Adrahil, who was a few years older than herself and who also possessed a determined sweet tooth. 

Despite her warm memories, she understood that the princes of Dol Amroth could have an intimidating effect on people in general. But Húnil seemed so self-possessed and carefree that Morwen found her friend’s diffidence surprising and amusing. She admired the downright and unaffected qualities in Húnil, especially as it contrasted so much with her mother who stood on constant lookout for ways to feel mortified — particularly by Morwen.

“Still,” Morwen mused. “I’d like to meet an Elf king if only for the novelty.”  

“Not me. Call me backward, but I prefer men who are more down to the earth.” Húnil grinned, not much bothered by being backward. 

Morwen smirked. “Like Thengel?” 

Húnil laughed at this frontal assault. “I can see why he might come to your mind first but—”

Thengel sauntered around the fountain to meet them. They were much nearer to him now and had finally caught his attention. He bowed solemnly but when he looked up at Morwen he had a slight smirk to match hers, catching some of her mood maybe. 

“What’s so amusing?” he asked. 

“We were discussing what it would be like to meet an Elf king,” Morwen answered. “The nearest comparison we could make is Cousin Angelimir. Húnil thinks he’s a little too lofty for her taste.” 

“Oh?” said Thengel. “I find one need only look at his ears to blunt the stateliness.” 

Morwen squashed a snort at the obvious broadside. It didn’t pay to encourage his teasing. It wouldn’t be the last time he amused himself at the expense of her family’s ears. 

Húnil glanced between Morwen and Thengel, entertained but looking a little out of her depth. 

“Has he got interesting ears?” she asked them.  

“Oh yes,” Thengel drawled. “It runs in the family. The ears offer a tempering effect on that elven beauty. Good for sailing, too.” 

Morwen made a show of brushing cat hair from her sleeve while she tamped down a laugh at her own expense. When she felt she had mastery of herself, she glanced up at Thengel who looked to be gauging her reaction with amusement. Well. Two could play at that game. 

“Speaking of beauty, doesn’t Lady Húnil look stunning tonight?” She gave him a pointed look that she hoped conveyed her desire that he refrain from private jokes when she had gone to so much effort to set him up with a pleasing partner for the evening. “I think this gold dress makes her look like a queen.”

“You’ve never seen a queen,” he replied, deadpan, unwilling or unable to be led. 

“Well, one can imagine.” She tipped her head toward Húnil, a silent cue to flatter the woman, for stars’ sake. 

Thengel held out his arm to Húnil. “You are a vision tonight, my lady.” 

“Of what, I’m afraid to ask,” Húnil chuckled, unwilling or unable to be flattered.  

“Of loveliness, of course,” Morwen answered for Thengel as she helped herself to his other arm. The pair of them liked to make uphill work for her. 

Thengel glanced between the two women hanging on his arms as if wondering where this placed him on a tactical level. 

“You’d better bring us inside,” Morwen directed him. “I hear the music starting and you have a partner to attend to.” 

“You know, for all his pushing people out of windows, Gaeron doesn’t hold a candle to you for bullying,” he murmured in her ear as they headed toward the entryway. 

Morwen smiled beatifically. “Thank you.” 

She tried not to grin too foolishly when he uttered an oath to the lord of forests in his native tongue. “I don’t think I meant it that way,” he muttered. 

Once they were inside Tower Hall and had greeted the principal people, Morwen extricated herself from Thengel’s arm. His brow creased as she stepped away. 

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

“You can’t dance with both of us,” she reminded him. 

Thengel glanced around, perhaps coming to the same conclusion as Húnil that Morwen might know very few of the guests. “And what will you be doing instead?” 

“Oh,” Morwen mused, “I’ll amuse myself by flirting outrageously with someone debilitatingly handsome.” 

Thengel looked like he wanted to say something stern, but Húnil’s waiting woman, Lhindis, gave a little hiccup. Morwen had forgotten about her. The woman made an excellent shadow. Unfortunately. Morwen studied her for signs of more yawning. 

“Or, I could find a quiet bench to sit on until someone takes pity on me,” Morwen adjusted for Lhindis’s sake.  

“You’d better go have a flirt instead,” Húnil advised. “It keeps a woman young.” 

“She’s young enough,” Thengel muttered. Then he told Morwen, “Don’t do anything that will get me shoved out of a window again by your brother.” 

“What Gaeron doesn’t know won’t hurt you,” Morwen replied impishly, turning on her heel. She smirked at him from over her shoulder. “And I intend to behave exactly as it pleases me.” 

Morwen heard him make a sound that almost reminded her of her mother. She threaded her way through the crowd assembled on the edge of the dance floor, leaving Thengel to fume and follow his fortune with Húnil. When she glanced back, she saw Húnil patting his arm soothingly. See? Morwen needed only to get out of their way. 

As the current set had already begun, most of the people seeking partners had procured them. The rest of the guests who had also just arrived were busy greeting one another or seeking the wine that would flow freely most of the night. Morwen availed herself of a glass and then positioned herself to be able to view her romantic charges like a knight observing his squires train with clumsy wooden swords. 

A clump of women occupied benches on the side of the hall that would just suit as a vantage point. Honestly, the best vantage point would be the Steward’s chair, but even she didn’t possess the brashness to try sitting on it. Morwen invited herself to join the ladies, wedging herself onto the edge of one bench already set to overflow. 

“Good evening. What fun this is. Excuse me.” She ignored their glares as they fought to keep their seats. “Don’t you think that couple over there looks particularly handsome? Lovely contrast. Yes, that’s Th — Lord Thengel and she’s Lady Húnil from Lebennin. Cousin to Captain Ecthelion. Keeps enormous cats! Don’t you love people-watching? Oh look, there’s Aranel dancing with quite possibly the oldest person in the room. Maybe even the country! What idiot allowed that pairing to happen? Oh, is that a minister from Wilderland? That explains it.”

Aranel was a shy woman not much older than Morwen. They had met briefly the year before at the banquet hosted by Aranel’s father Barahir, the Keeper of the Keys. Since her family had hosted the banquet, Morwen had asked Aranel to introduce her to Tathren.  One could say they were co-conspirators…had Aranel known any of Morwen’s designs. This year it looked like Aranel might be in need of Morwen’s services. Unfortunately, her cause to marry off Thengel kept her totally occupied. 

After a little more rattling on in the same manner, a few of the occupants of the bench gave quarter, allowing Morwen space to enjoy her wine and to reflect. Her romantic charges swept into view again. She had an eye for beauty and couldn’t help but appreciate the way that Húnil’s gown matched the gold embroidery around Thengel’s collar and hem, and complimented the rich blue fabric. They looked like the sun on a clear day and seemed so well-suited that Morwen drained her wine…in self-congratulation.

Though her head swam slightly, her fingers began to twitch longingly for her book and pencils in order to sketch the pair. Perhaps they would be the basis for her Húrin and Eledhwen, a favorite legendary couple of Morwen’s and her namesake. And yet, Húnil seemed a little too cheerful to pull off the benighted Lady of Dor-lómin. 

Morwen’s thoughts continued to flow in this manner as she sipped a second glass of wine — the Steward hadn’t skimped on quality — and watched her friends progress over the dance floor. She had observed them speaking comfortably in the beginning but as the dance progressed, she noticed they had lapsed into silence. She reflected that their love may have grown to the extent that it defied speech. 

At times Morwen caught her foot tapping along to the music. Really, and what could she do from the sidelines now that her charges had reached a state of silent bliss? When the song ended, Morwen set her glass under the bench, determined to find a partner before people formed the wrong impression of her. Then she felt a presence at her elbow. Really. He made it too easy. 

“I never got to congratulate your family on the addition of Gaeron’s new bride, Lady Morwen,” Lord Serion observed while also observing her neckline. “My sincerest felicitations.”  

“Thank you,” she replied, rising and turning so that she could face him without putting a crick in her neck. “And good evening.” 

Serion bowed over her hand which he had helped himself to before she could offer it. His mustache tickled where he kissed her skin. 

“Good evening, Lady Morwen,” he echoed. “You are a vision of the Lady of the Stars tonight.” 

Morwen might have been flattered but Serion had said the same thing to her the previous year and the repetition dulled the shine a little. Though, in fairness, she couldn’t think of anything new to say about him either. 

Serion had the dark feline grace of Nahtar, Morwen thought. He stood almost as tall as Cousin Adrahil, with a lithe figure that anyone with eyes in their heads could appreciate. She had heard Gaeron remark once to a friend…when he thought she wasn’t listening…that Serion’s long, glossy black hair and heavy brows shaped like scimitars had been the subject of boudoir poetry. Very pretty. Heart-stopping, really. Though she felt that she had too much life left for her heart to give out now. She wondered about his claws. 

Morwen observed that Serion wore the color red like it belonged to him. With her deep purple gown, so deep almost to be blue, she thought that together they looked like a blood blister. Would she enjoy the morbid effect that would have on the hall? Perhaps. 

“I shall convey your good wishes to my family,” she assured him once she had finished appreciating his…merits. 

“Thank you.” Then with a slight, upward turn of his lips, he asked, “May I inquire after your ankle?” 

Morwen swallowed down a tendril of trepidation. It felt delicious. She made a decision.  

“Extremely sound, Lord Serion,” she answered. “I do not believe it will suffer the same weakness as last spring.”  

The skin around his eyes crinkled ever so slightly as his smile widened. He looked a little like the wolf from the Gondorian Children’s Treasury of Tales Morwen had devoured as a child. Yes, he exactly resembled a well-groomed wolf who used pomade to great effect. 

“Excellent,” he crooned. “For I believe you are one dance in my debt.” 

Morwen sighed, “I knew you would say that.” 

He blinked, somewhat marring his veneer. “Am I so predictable?” 

“Yes, but it’s hardly your fault. There’s a formula to follow.” She squeezed his hand, which still clung to hers throughout the conversation. “Come along.” 

Morwen led him to the dance floor, which she wondered at a little. Maybe Thengel had spoken correctly when he called her a bully. She decided not to let it bother her. Húnil had praised her for not standing upon ceremony, after all. 

Once on the floor, Serion no longer required a lead. He pulled her close as he began to guide her through the steps. So close, in fact, that the scented water he preferred on these occasions formed a musky halo around them. She wondered if the scent would linger on her when they parted eventually and what she would tell her mother. Upon reflection, she found she didn’t care anymore. They would leave Minas Tirith for a whole year regardless. 

Despite the initial trepidation, four seasons of separation had helped Morwen build up some immunity to Serion’s powers. She almost laughed when she remembered how she’d used Tathren to avoid him. What a wasted opportunity last spring had been. Although, Morwen had hoped for a different one back then. She better understood now the saying about the bird in the hand. Wasn’t it nice to be older and wiser? 

“Is there any more to the formula?” Serion asked. 

Morwen blinked as his question dragged her down from the perfumed cloud she’s floated away on. Formula? Oh yes. The convention of seduction in modern courtship. Serion certainly submitted to his role with better tractability than Thengel did, she felt. 

“There is, Lord Serion. Now you make euphemisms that I’ll pretend not to understand.” She cleared her throat. “Go ahead. I’m prepared.” 

All accounts pointed to Serion as a master. Morwen fixed her eyes on his face, expecting an interesting education into the world of entendre. She wondered if he’d teach her something to make Gaeron blush. However, another little crack appeared in Serion’s veneer. 

“I’m not sure I can perform on demand.” 

“Contrary to reputation?” she asked before she could wonder if it was wise. 

There. Serion found his footing again. “Why,” he smirked. “What have you heard?” 

“That you are a force to be reckoned with.” Amongst other things. 

The smirk deepened, revealing dimples that Morwen found more endearing than seductive. “And do you wish to reckon with me?” 

Morwen had to appreciate the way Serion allowed her to steer him. It made a nice change over the last few days. She favored him with a cunning smile. Well, she supposed it might be cunning. It felt cunning. How could one tell without a mirror? 

“You know very well that there is no ladylike way for me to answer that,” she recited from the script they were both following.  

Serion chuckled in an appropriately throaty manner, reminding her again of the wolf from the Treasury. “I should ask if you are free to be reckoned with.” 

“Oh, not really,” she admitted. “I am not seeking suitors at the moment.” 

He shrugged. “No bother. Other arrangements can be made.”

Ah, now he had arrived at the veiled speech she had known to expect. She pretended to feel ruffled. “Unless you’re referring to floral arrangements, sir, I doubt anything you have to say will interest me.” 

Serion gave her a condescending smile. “We’ll see.” Then his face went a little slack. He said, “Do you mind if we drift a little closer to the windows? I’d like the benefit of a breeze.”

“As you wish.” Morwen searched his face for signs of overheating but found none. “Why?” 

“There’s a man shooting fire from his eyes at me.” 

Morwen tried to look around but whenever she did, Serion would maneuver her again in keeping with the steps so she never did face the direction she wished. She realized the tactical benefit for men in making women trip around backward when dancing. 

“Is it someone from Wilderland?” she asked. “They had a dragon.” 

Serion blinked. “Er, no. Not technically.” 

“Oh.” 

“Do you perhaps have a jealous lover I should know about?” he asked, glancing over her head again. 

“Who, me?” Morwen stammered before she remembered that she meant to sound worldly. She pursed her lips, taking her time scanning her recollection. “No. Perhaps he belongs to some other lady that you’ve already seduced? I expect this happens to you fairly often.”

Serion cleared his throat, beginning to look a little damp. “I don’t think so. You see, this happens to be one of those men with whom I would prefer to stay on the right side. I didn’t anticipate any problems on that end tonight, but eh,” he studied Morwen’s face. “I appear to be wrong.” 

“Who is it? I can’t see when you twirl me around like this.” 

Rather than answer, he pulled her from the dance floor. “Ah, the song is ending anyway. Why don’t we seek shelter behind this becoming statue until the firestorm ends.”   

Morwen glanced at the statue on a very tall, very solid pedestal and thought she had better not allow Serion to corner her behind it. How to escape? Thankfully, she saw a familiar face. 

“Oh my, there’s Lady Húnil. I particularly wanted to speak to her,” she rattled. “Please excuse me.” 

But Húnil arrived by Morwen’s side before she could unglue herself from Serion. 

“So, you did find a partner, after all,” Húnil crowed as she bore down on them. “Foolish to worry, of course. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting…” 

The suggestion lingering in the air forced Morwen to introduce Húnil to Serion. She had an odd sense of déjà vu as she recited the necessary things. Then, when Húnil offered her hand to Serion, Morwen felt afraid of the man for the first time that evening. Not for herself, but because she saw exactly what she had been looking for since she first grouped Thengel and Húnil together. 

A spark.

Chapter Text

How dare the man, Morwen privately fumed. Serion had no right to gleam away at a woman who had already been spoken for…by proxy.  

Which reminded her…

“But where is Thengel?” she stammered. 

Húnil blinked away from Serion’s face briefly. “Oh, he went to get drinks while I looked for you.” 

“Perhaps we should rejoin him,” Morwen hinted, touching Húnil’s arm. “And you can tell us more about your cats.” 

“You go find him, dear. I’m not thirsty.” 

Morwen opened her mouth to reply but shut it again. Had Húnil just sniffed at the opportunity to talk about her beloved pets? Her words certainly belied the parched look in her eyes. Morwen felt she could hardly leave her friend unguarded in this interesting state and regretted not bringing the huge pin from Gaeron’s wedding now that she had an actual use for it. 

“Oh, but Lord Serion and I were just discussing arrangements,” she warned, more rash than wise. His interest couldn’t possibly switch between women so quickly. 

“Never mind, Lady Morwen,” he said, still gazing into Húnil’s eyes. “Flowers give me hay fever.” 

Morwen frowned at that, wondering if she should take it personally. Glancing down, she noted that he had not relinquished her friend’s hand. But what could Morwen do to separate them short of mild assault? Nothing whatsoever. 

“On the other hand,” he crooned. “I do know my way around a cat.” 

Húnil chuckled and began to look curiously rosy. “So few gentlemen do, you know.”

“It’s easy to get lost without dedicated practice, I’ve found.” 

Morwen stared between Serion and Húnil. Navigable cats? What nonsense. Morwen felt she had heard enough for one evening. Besides they seemed no longer to register her presence. Thus dismissed, she turned on her heels in retreat, feeling two days’ worth of effort going to seed. 

She steeled herself against the panic rising within her as it would not help to stop the collision of two stars. Instead, Morwen considered how she could use this new obstacle to light a fire under Thengel. A big fire. The biggest. He behaved with far too much complacency toward women…Húnil particularly. So, all the blame rested solely on him. If he had cooed over Húnil’s cat yesterday none of this would be happening. 

Morwen hadn’t gotten far before a dark chuckle erupted somewhere behind her, causing her to flinch. No one could mistake the source. She decided she needed a drink — and to find Thengel so he could put a stop to this new development before it became irreversible. 

While chasing after servers, she found herself before Thengel who had better success than she. 

“You look like you need this,” he observed. He handed her one of the glasses of wine he held without her needing to ask. The glass felt soothingly cool in her hand. 

“Thank you.” Morwen held the glass under her nose, enjoying the bouquet before taking a sip. “What are you doing wandering the hall all alone?” she asked with an accusing tone she usually reserved for Gaeron.  

A hint of ire threaded his voice when he answered. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

She lifted her chin. “I asked first.” 

Thengel turned the wine glass between his fingers. The ruby liquid swirled. “The suitable lady you found for me decided that two dances with one partner sufficed for the evening,” he explained. “She’s now loose upon the hall at her insistence.” 

Morwen nearly dumped the contents of her glass on him. “How could you let that happen?” 

Thengel frowned down at her. “Short of tying our ankles together like a three-legged race I couldn’t force her to stay by my side all night.” 

“Did you try? Tying your ankles together, I mean,” she amended. “That would have been clever.”  

“Morwen,” he said reproachfully. Then he asked, “But why are you alone instead of enjoying that outrageous flirtation as you threatened earlier?”

“I had it already,” she admitted. “I’ve been dancing and talking with Lord Serion over there, the fellow who has arranged himself next to the only nude statuary in the place.” 

Thengel glowered at said statue. “Just what were you and Serion discussing?” 

“Oh, I gave him instructions for seducing me.” Morwen glanced into her wine. “While it bolstered my confidence I can’t say it’s enjoyable having to spell out every step. One hopes for a little more initiative in a partner otherwise it begins to feel one-sided.” She squinted at Thengel. “Don’t you agree?” 

Thengel rubbed his forehead. 

She touched his shoulder. “Do you have a headache?”

“Something like that,” Thengel admitted, glancing at her hand as she withdrew it. Then he asked, “Was Serion a good student? You were flirting with him for some time.” 

“Yes, I’d say so.” Morwen sipped her wine, reflecting, “He’s biddable, which one can appreciate. Although I would not have flirted with him if I’d known he had dark designs.” 

“You were flirting with him,” Thengel scoffed. “Of course, he had dark designs.” 

“I flirt with everybody,” Morwen stated in her defense. “There’s no need to propose Certain Arrangements and not the floral kind.”  

“Not the fl…” Thengel glanced away for a moment. “You might see how it would confuse a man.” 

“He’s not confused about cats,” she said tartly. “He’s quite the adept.”  

Now Thengel looked confused. 

Morwen raised an eyebrow. “He said he knew his way around them.” 

Thengel’s expression turned from confusion to something thunderous. “Serion said that to you?” he asked sharply. 

“Not exactly.” Morwen waved a hand dismissively, feeling like Thengel was overreacting to a silly comment about creatures he didn’t seem to like. “He had turned his sights to new horizons. I was a bystander.” 

“All the better for your floral arrangements,” Thengel muttered before drinking his wine.  

“Ha ha.” 

Thengel lowered the glass and inspected her closer. “I know you tend to wear levity like a cloak on most days, but it seems to have slipped a little. Something he’s said or done has gotten under your skin. What was it?” 

She thought Serion had gotten under Thengel’s skin too for some reason but didn’t press it. 

“How astute of you,” Morwen replied icily. “I’ve been cast off in favor of another woman and it…bothers me.” 

Thengel grew silent for a moment before he finished the last of the wine in his glass. Then he said, “Morwen, I hope I don’t need to tell you that the temporary regard of a man like Serion should be held in very low esteem.” 

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she replied. “I don’t need him to esteem me in any way except to keep him from seducing anyone else.” 

Thengel squinted at her, then shook his head. “I fail to see how you are responsible for anyone else in the room.” 

“Of course I’m responsible. Well, not for everyone. Just one particular lady.” The thought of her failure in that regard made Morwen drain her mostly full glass completely too. A warm avalanche of wooziness washed over her a moment later. She touched her forehead. “Ooh. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Steady,” Thengel murmured. His hand felt warm on her back as she swayed a little. “You are in a mood tonight.” 

Something in his tone, which half soothed and half censured, cracked her composure a little. 

“Yes, I am,” she moaned. “I feel that I am willing to go to great lengths to secure your future happiness by anticipating potential damages but here you are putting in no effort at all.” 

“Is that truly how you feel?” he murmured. 

“Yes,” Morwen answered. “You have no compassion for the position this puts me in.” 

Thengel looked like he wanted to remind her that she had created that position without being asked or encouraged. Morwen waited for it. But the expression passed. 

“Perhaps I’ve been remiss in my behavior,” he reflected. “But it’s easily mended.” He took her empty glass away when a server offered to exchange it for a full one. “Come. I think it’s time we have our dance. You look like you might need someone to prop you up in a discreet and respectable way.” 

Morwen glared at him. “Our dance? I believe you and I are at cross purposes regarding how your behavior should be mended,” she scolded. “I expressly told you to occupy Lady Húnil tonight. We,” she wagged a finger between them, “do not have a dance.” 

His jaw slid into that singularly stubborn angle she recognized. “It’s part of the arrangement.” 

“Is it?” She admitted that her mind had gone fuzzier than an unsheared sheep but she couldn’t recall that point when she had created the arrangement. 

“Naturally. So we can debrief one another.” 

She eyed him warily. “Haven’t we done so just now?” 

“True, but since we have both failed in our partners, I think we’d better have the dance all the same. It’s the formality of the thing,” he said sagely. “Besides, people will think we’re snubbing the host if we stand around in this stupid manner.”

“I agree we shouldn’t snub the host.” She frowned at nothing, in particular, chewing on her bottom lip while she thought about it. “But I do feel like I would remember if I had added such a step to the arrangement.” 

“Next time write it out so you don’t forget,” he suggested. 

“You…”  

Morwen meant to scold him for making it sound like her mistake when he had just made it all up. But she found that his eyes had wandered to her lips, which had begun to feel a little swollen after she’d thoughtlessly chewed them. And he hadn’t noticed her noticing yet. His hand still rested on the small of her back. She found herself leaning into him, noting that he smelled subtly like cedarwood and soap, which made her wonder if he had caught the notes of Serion’s overpowering cologne on her dress. She also wondered how many other women would smell like that after tonight. 

The instruments flourished, signaling the end of the current set. Morwen turned her head toward the musicians and got a distinct note of something on her dress. Hints of spice and musk. 

“Well, Morwen?” 

“I smell like Serion, don’t I?” She wafted the air around her shoulders trying to pick up the scent again. 

A look came into Thengel’s eyes that on any other man, she might choose to interpret a certain way. On him, she dismissed it as resulting from the heat in the room or too much wine. He had made his position clear, after all. Hadn’t he? 

But then his hand slid up from her lower back, drawing her close as if they were about to dance right then and there. His chest was a solid wall and she couldn’t help but lean against him. Maybe it was the wine, but Morwen felt her eyes begin to cross as she stared at the line of his shoulder. His nose brushed her ear as he breathed in. Then he released her, stepping away as if he had only meant to pick away a piece of lint from her dress. She stared at his profile for a moment in astonishment with her heart in her throat, trying to remember how to breathe. 

“I can’t say I do smell his cologne,” he remarked as he held out his arm. “Now, will you dance?” 

Morwen swallowed. It had grown blistering in the hall. She should have eased into that last glass of wine, remembering belatedly that she’d already had two. And it wasn’t the watered-down stuff her mother served for daily enjoyment. 

“All right,” she said warily as she threaded her arm through his. “But only because I know Húnil won’t interpret our being together in a competitive light.” 

Thengel’s gaze traveled from her eyes down the line of her nose. When his eyes met hers again, they were clear but something about them reminded her of Húnil’s earlier. 

“Don’t you think that would help?” he asked.

“Do you?” 

“I believe,” he mused, “that we could do a great deal toward making them jealous by dancing impeccably together.” 

Morwen blinked at him. “I never said I wanted to make Serion jealous.” 

“You look like you wish to make someone jealous.” That interesting gleam appeared in his eyes again. 

Morwen found herself grinning before she could stop it. “Do I? How nice.”  

“I don’t think I meant it that way.” Thengel gave her a parting sardonic look before he flagged down a server to take the empty glasses he held between the fingers of his free hand.  

Morwen let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor where they waited for an opportunity to slip in among the couples. Unable to help herself, she scanned the room. What she saw made her laugh in relief. Thengel cast her a questioning glance. 

“Serion isn’t capable of jealousy. See?” 

Morwen nodded toward the statue where she could see a woman’s loose hair behind one corner of the tall pedestal and the back of his red tunic peeking around the other marble corner. Recalling the beautiful combs that bound Húnil’s hair, Morwen thought that her friend must have escaped after all. It made Morwen feel charitably toward Serion again. 

“He’s already found another woman to seduce. I hope she shall enjoy being ruined.”

Thengel choked, then said, “It’s very considerate of you to wish her well.” He cleared his throat. “But how do you know it isn’t Húnil?” 

Morwen despaired of Thengel. “You didn’t notice her hair piled up in combs? That woman’s wearing her hair down.” 

“I did notice,” Thengel replied. “But combs can be easily removed.” 

“How do you know? Wear them often?” she quipped before she understood his meaning. Then she blushed and said, “Oh.” 

Thengel politely pretended not to notice that she’d embarrassed herself, which made her feel both foolish and grateful. She wondered about the state of women’s combs in Pelargir. It didn’t happen often, but once in a while circumstances forced her to remember that Thengel had been out in the world a lot longer than she had, with life experiences that didn’t involve her. The gratitude began to ebb while the feeling of foolishness increased. 

She rallied enough to say, “It’s unlikely to be Húnil. No woman in her right mind would go through all the trouble to put her hair up in that elaborate style only to let someone take it down right away in a public place. The reception won’t be over for hours.” 

“In the case of a seduction, it’s certainly more expedient to wear it down from the start,” he murmured, glancing at her head. 

“Yes, I — what?” Was he talking about her hair? 

Thengel gave her a mild, curious look. “Hm?”  

Morwen began to suspect that bland expression of his…of what, she didn’t know precisely. It might be possible, she reflected, that there was more to Thengel than a stubbornly incompetent lover of Lady Húnil. Probably not. But possibly. 

He released her elbow, then held out his hand for her to take as the musicians sipped from the tankards kept under their chairs and arranged themselves for the next piece. She slipped her fingers onto his open palm, eyeing his fingers as they gripped hers; though calloused, he did keep the nails trimmed and clean. He gave the appearance of being a very neat, unfailingly polite, mild-tempered man who could be taken advantage of by every Serion in the room…even if he did know a thing or two about combs. The man was a walking contradiction. 

“You know,” she began, “I have often wondered what dancing with you might be like.” 

“I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.” He winked at her. “Or we could just try it.” 

Morwen had many questions but she thought she’d start with the most important one. “Are you a pleasing partner or do you push ladies around the floor like a mop?” 

That interesting glint reappeared in his eyes but she didn’t let it trouble her. She rather liked it along with the way he half frowned like he wanted to squash a smile. She’d known that smile for as long as she could remember. The glint was much newer.

“Morwen, I’m prepared to feel offended that you’d question my technique.” 

Morwen turned jaundiced eyes to the other guests. “It’s the only explanation I can produce for why a man with a courtly upbringing would choose to hide away in a stuffy port like Pelargir when specifically invited by a minor lord of Lossarnach….”

“Invited by the minor lord or just by his stationary?” Thengel interjected. 

“Worse,” she moaned. “The daughter of the minor lord who stole the stationary. Explain yourself.”  

Thengel hesitated, then said soberly, “Borders don’t stop needing protection because a certain young woman comes of age.” 

Morwen inhaled sharply, feeling like she’d missed a step on the stairs. She felt her face grow hot. This time it had nothing to do with the wine or innuendo or his nose brushing her ear. His answer didn’t satisfy her. In fact, it hurt. 

At times like these, she took after her mother more than she cared to admit. 

“Oh, certainly. Not when you’re the only man standing between Gondor and a full-scale invasion,” she quipped with deliberate lightness and perhaps a touch of acid. “Whatever did Lord Turgon do to protect the realm before Thengel Thrice-Renowned turned up on his doorstep?” 

Thengel had the sense to look chastened, especially when she slipped her hand out of his. She turned her back on him and stepped away. It didn’t matter which direction, she simply had to move.  

“Where are you going?” he called. 

“To find another partner,” she said over her shoulder. “Then if you’d like to return to Pelargir this minute, you’re free to. Oh look, there’s Aranel. She’ll be able to introduce me—” 

“Morwen…” 

She marched on, insensible as to where. “Your vigilance is admirable, Thengel. Don’t let me keep you.” 

“Morwen, wait.” Thengel caught up with her and seizing her arm, turned her toward himself. “If I apologize, will you reconsider?” 

She tilted her chin upward, pressing a finger into his chest as multiple eyes in the room turned their way. “As if I’d be impolitic enough to volunteer that information before you’ve done so.” 

Thengel rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded her. “Listen, it was a foolish thing to say.” 

“I agree, but that’s not an apology.” 

“My careless words have caused you pain and for that, I am deeply sorry. Will you forgive me?” 

Morwen studied him, trying to discern what she wanted through the noise of hurt feelings. He hadn’t just been careless, he’d put her in her place — the same way his reply last year had done. Unfortunately, a crowded ballroom of interested people and three glasses of wine did nothing to facilitate clarity. So she arranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression. 

“That’s the next song,” she observed.  

He raised an eyebrow. “Take a risk?” 

Morwen sighed. “I suppose I’m young enough to successfully convalesce if you either dismember or mortally offend me a second time.” 

“That’s the spirit,” he answered, though his smile held a note of caution as if he didn’t count on being fully forgiven.  

Thengel led her onto the floor between other couples. The musicians played a cheerful piece that made her think of a breeze running through spring flowers…a terrible contrast to how she felt now, which was heavy with unresolved feelings for someone who didn’t give two straws about her except as a family friend. 

She rested one hand on his shoulder as he pulled her closer. Since Thengel’s nearness and his touch hadn’t taken her by surprise this time, she found she could breathe. His hand on her waist felt comfortably warm and weighty. Steadying. 

Despite the set-down he’d given her, it felt nice to be near him, especially given how the wine had found its way down to her legs. It made her knees feel like they were put on backward. Sort of like her heart at the moment. Confused and nonsensical. She wanted simultaneously to be as near to him as possible and as far away as she could get. 

Other couples flowed around them, the drone of their conversations in her ears. Now that they were dancing, however, she’d lost the thread of conversation. She rarely found herself in such a state. Her efforts with Serion must have drained her more than she thought. Or perhaps learning that she still ranked below a dank port had done that. Thengel seemed to follow her mood and the first set passed away without another word beyond a few trivialities. At least she could confirm that he didn’t push women around like mops. 

Before the music began again, Morwen expected that they would part ways. When he didn’t let her go, she decided she could bear another turn. After that, she’d seek out Lhindis and Húnil.

“Morwen, don’t take this as a criticism,” he murmured in her ear, finally breaking the silence. “But you keep hitting my knee with yours.” 

“Oh, it’s not my knee,” she answered, after scanning herself. “It’s my sketchbook. I sewed pockets into my dress but made them too low. Next time I’ll practice on muslin first.” 

“Couldn’t you wear a purse like other ladies?” 

Some women had chosen to wear highly decorated pouches fastened to their fine belts. But Morwen looked askance at the suggestion. 

“And spoil the silhouette of this dress?” 

Thengel considered the dress and seemed to linger at the neckline. “Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking.” Then he said, “Do your dresses usually come with pockets?” 

Morwen smirked. “No, it’s a brilliant idea I got from Húnil.” She raised her chin in challenge, beginning to think she’d have to keep it permanently held that way while in his presence. “She’s extremely clever. Did you not at least find her a charming partner?” 

“Húnil is both clever and charming,” he droned. 

When it seemed they were in danger of falling silent again, Morwen said, “She told me that there’s to be a new king in Rhovanion. Is that true?” 

Thengel nodded. “Two new kings, in fact…or there will be after Bard’s coronation.” 

“Two?” 

“Besides Bard, there’s King Dáin of the Dwarves in Erebor,” he told her. “Dáin Ironfoot some call him.” 

“One would be afraid to dance with him,” Morwen reflected. Thengel grinned at her and she couldn’t help smiling back. “Húnil also said —”

The smile curdled somewhat. “Húnil had plenty of opportunity to speak for herself earlier. What does Morwen have to say, I wonder?” 

Morwen gave him a desperate look. “It doesn’t matter. It’s Húnil’s night. I’m just standing in as a placeholder for her. Wherever she is.” Morwen glanced around the hall again. She spotted Lhindis asleep in a chair at the opposite end of the hall, but no sign of Húnil.

Thengel grimaced. “A placeholder?” 

“Yes, to keep other women from enacting their designs on you in Húnil’s absence,” she elaborated, still looking around.  

“What other women?” 

True, she didn’t exactly see a rabid horde. 

“Aren’t there any?” she asked. Maybe he had left them in Pelargir, a churlish inner voice remarked. Along with their combs. 

He shook his head. “It must be my enormous forehead and mustard-yellow hair.” 

Morwen gave him a speculative look, ignoring the ribbing at his caricature’s expense. “Truly? Not even in Pelargir?” 

“Truly, not even in Pelargir,” he replied. “Morwen, understand that once women realize that my titles carry an obligation to move to the uncouth north, they tend to lose their enthusiasm. I’ve been in this country so long that it’s a widely known fact.” 

“Their loss,” she said adamantly. Then she quickly added, “But Húnil isn’t like them. She said she could move at a moment’s notice.” 

“It’s doubtful she had Edoras in mind when she made that remark and you know it.” 

“Perhaps no one has told her it has a golden roof,” Morwen mused. “It would complement her dress very nicely.” Just like everything else tonight. 

His expression shifted to something decidedly wolfish. “May I also point out that she has opinions about marrying stuffy old kings from other countries?” 

Morwen stared at him. “But you’re not stuffy!” she insisted, though indignant on his behalf in case other people thought so.  

Thengel inclined his head. “Thank you.” 

“Just horribly complacent when it comes to women.”

Thengel pressed his lips into a fine line, choosing to say nothing. 

“I still can’t believe you let her get away.” Morwen felt pressure in her throat just thinking about it. The match had to succeed. 

Thengel’s eyes rolled. “Your belief in my power to keep any woman captivated beyond a polite period is perhaps unfounded.” 

“Because you do not apply yourself,” she admonished. “You only had to charm her.” 

Thengel looked a little uncomfortable. “Charm is a…southern notion, Morwen. The Rohirrim do not wander around charming one another.”

“Lovers in the Mark must do something or else your people would have died out by now.” 

Thengel’s gaze grew long as he contemplated. “If I recall correctly, the negotiations tended to go something like, ’We’re in for a long winter. You look warm. Shall we cohabitate?’” 

Morwen squinted at him. “I think you’re teasing me.” 

“In such cases where that does fail,” he drawled on, “then something along the lines of owning more horses than Cynebald and all his uncles usually helps.” 

“Who’s Cynebald?”

“No one. It’s an expression.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it illustrates how wooing’s accomplished in the Mark.” 

Morwen frowned. “So, inclement weather and horses are the basis for romance in your homeland?” 

“The cold is considerable,” Thengel pressed. “And so are our horses.” 

“No wonder making you a match has been such an uphill trudge relative to Gaeron. I hadn’t taken into account the considerable cultural differences,” Morwen reflected. 

“Yes, that’s the reason entirely,” Thengel muttered. 

But Morwen had fixated on one point. She asked, “For the sake of reference, should Húnil be interested, how many horses do you have?” 

“More than Cynebald and all his uncles.” Thengel pursed his lips, thinking. “More than his aunts too.” 

“Numerically speaking,” Morwen murmured, “that comes out to about…” 

“Lots.” 

“Mm-hm.” Then she said, “Thank you for the cultural lesson, horse-master, but there’s something you’re neglecting.” 

Thengel watched her for a moment. “What’s that?” 

“The fact that you’ve lived among southerners longer than you’ve lived in the north — if only by a narrow margin. I can tell our ways have rubbed off on you, which means you’re capable of charming a lady without referencing Cynebard--” 

“Cynebald.” 

“Yes…or his uncles.” She tapped his shoulder where her hand rested. “You simply have to apply yourself.” 

Thengel nodded at a couple who’d been eavesdropping nearby. “Easier said than done,” he replied as they scuttled away.  

“Behaving charmingly is easy. I do it all the time.” 

Thengel made a sound that might have been a scoff or a laugh. “Some might say you have charm in excess,” he muttered.  

Morwen gave him a toothy smile. “Thank you.” 

“Again, I’m not sure…never mind.” He shook his head, then looked at her pensively. “I suppose charm is simple for a beautiful young woman, but you have to make allowances that it’s a little more difficult for crusty old warriors brought up in wild places.” 

“You’re only a little crusty, Thengel.” 

“If you say so.” 

“And being old isn’t an excuse. Cousin Angelimir is positively ancient but he’s the most charming man I know.” And he had good taste in sweets. 

“You aren’t going to say that I’m only a little old?” Thengel asked. 

Morwen’s face turned grim. “I’ll allow that you are younger than Angelimir.”

Thengel pulled her closer so that he could almost brush her cheek with his nose. His hands squeezed her waist in a way that sent a thrill from her stomach to her heart. “Saucebox.”  

That surprised Morwen into a laugh. He hadn’t called her that since she was a little girl throwing apples at him from one of the orchard trees. And she could tell by the look in his eye that those apples weren’t far from his mind either. 

“Charm is simple, Thengel. In essence, it’s a blend of conversational prowess matched with genuine interest,” she explained after she’d put some distance between them. “It’s amazing how people respond when you notice them. With the right sort of person whole hours could slip away in what feels like minutes.” 

Thengel nodded. “Indeed. But I don’t seem to have that effect on Húnil.” 

“Not yet, perhaps,” Morwen agreed. “But you are lucky then that I have secured her for tomorrow’s outing. A reception provides too much stimulation maybe.” 

“It certainly provides a variety of other partners.” Then he added, “Which seems less rude than keeping someone all to oneself, by the way.”  

Morwen almost howled at his lack of initiative as a lover. “Rude? In the dictates of modern courtship, it’s every man for himself. Courtesy be damned.” 

Thengel absorbed this concept for a moment. “Why such a cutthroat policy?” 

Morwen exhaled in despair at his ignorance. “It has to be, Thengel. There’s simply no room for inertia these days. Do you believe the Serions of the world are going to behave in a sportsmanlike manner? No!” she declared, half wishing she had a box to stand on. “They’re much more likely to snatch a woman out from under a complacent man just when he isn’t looking — or even when he is. Ours is an age of action, not manners.” 

“You may be right.” Thengel leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t look now, but isn’t that our friend Húnil with that unsportsmanlike Serion? Sans combs.” 

 “What!” Morwen cried, turning in his arms to look back. She missed him rolling his eyes. 

“For someone who requires other people to dance to her tune, following instruction isn’t one of your strengths,” he quipped, maneuvering her out of the way of the other couples before she could cause a collision. 

She ignored him as she stared at the pair who were now openly thwarting her plans on the dance floor. The combs had disappeared after all, leaving Húnil’s long hair trailing down her back in a flagrant manner. So, she had been lurking behind the pillar allowing Serion to ruin her reputation and her coiffure this whole time!

“How dare he,” Morwen fumed even as she caught herself admiring the combination of scarlet and gold — now she really did see the subjects for her Tar-Míriel and Ar-Pharazôn. “I found Húnil first.” 

“I’m not sure this is a matter for finders-keepers.” Thengel maneuvered Morwen back into facing him. She felt irritated to see the humor in his eyes. He should look heartsick. “Serion should probably be excused for not knowing about your project. After all, it’s very likely that Húnil doesn’t realize that you’ve staked a claim on her either.” 

Morwen grimaced. “Well, I can’t outright tell her as I did with Gaeron. She’ll have to believe that falling in love with you is her own idea.” 

Thengel snorted. “One would assume.” He looked thoughtful. “I didn’t know that she and Serion were acquainted.” 

Morwen sucked in her bottom lip before she could help herself. 

Noticing, Thengel’s eyebrow rose. “You look like your conscious is pricking you. Care to confess?” 

She glanced up at him, then away with a stubborn set to her jaw. “No, thank you.”

“Morwen.” 

“Oh, very well,” she groaned, studiously looking at the indentation below his throat rather than into his eyes. “I introduced them.” 

“Making another escape?” 

She nodded. 

“It seems to me that you’re getting in the way of your own plans then,” he pointed out, “all the while blaming me for a lack of charm.” 

Morwen huffed. He wasn’t completely wrong, but how dare he say it anyway. She decided to keep her eyes on his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see the smug expression on his face. 

“You’re surprised then that he asked her to dance?” Thengel continued. “And that she accepted?” 

“Yes,” she admitted, half-heartedly. “It must be a mistake. Perhaps she had no polite way to refuse.” 

“In which case, surely you’re not the only woman capable of inventing an ankle injury,” he teased. 

Morwen wrinkled her nose. “She may have better scruples than me.” 

“Assuredly so, dear heart.” Thengel cleared his throat. “Or perhaps she enjoys his company? I’ve heard more than once that Serion is a paragon of charm.” 
 
Morwen gave Thengel an accusing glare. “That’s a terrible thing to say.” 

“Is it?” he asked, unruffled by her ill humor. “Even Serion deserves companionship.” 

That was not a convenient philosophy, especially as it came at Thengel’s expense. Too much charity could be as much a vice as greed. Morwen almost suspected that Thengel wanted to die alone. 

“So do you,” Morwen countered. “And you are being very cool given that Serion used this evening to steal your lady love.” 

Thengel drew her closer, almost as close as when he’d checked her for notes of Serion’s cologne.

“Oh, I may have almost lost my head, but I recovered nicely,” he said in her ear. His voice sounded dry as old paper. “It’s probably the benefit of maturity and experience.” 

Morwen ignored him, her mind busy…and because she didn’t think he deserved notice. Then her eyes lit up as a happy thought occurred to her. She had to crane her neck back a little to look at him. 

“I know! You could always cut in.” 

He pursed his lips, then said, “Another example of modern courtship?” 

“Oh, yes,” she grinned impishly. “Go on. I won’t mind.” 

“But I will mind very much.” He added, “Maybe I’m too old-fashioned to appreciate its nuances, but it seems to me that modern courtship and piracy share certain parallels — a lack of courtesy being one of them.” 

“I could cut in for you,” she offered, ignoring his criticism of modern courtship. “I’m not old fashioned — and I have sometimes desired to become a pirate.” 

“Then you’d have to tangle with me,” Thengel pointed out. 

Morwen swallowed. She almost liked the sound of that. It gave her an interesting sensation. But she chose to remind him, “Other corsairs may find you formidable, but I’m a menace with apples.” 

Thengel glanced wryly at her. “You realize I might have been humoring that little waif of a girl you used to be at the time.” 

“An unlikely story.” An unripe apple in the right spot smarted like anything. Morwen had good aim. She gave him a sly look. “If you lack the courage to inconvenience a rogue like Serion, then I’ll take it upon myself as your matchmaker —”

His grip on her waist tightened as she threatened to walk off. “If you do I will tell your mother about your floral arrangements.” 

Morwen blushed, though she couldn’t exactly say why. She looked into his eyes and thought she saw a hint of piracy there despite his demurring about being old-fashioned…and an agent of Captain Ecthelion.  

“You’d dare?” 

“I would,” he answered gravely. “So you had better stay put with me. Enjoy your evening and leave Húnil to enjoy hers.” 

Morwen subsided. “Well, I can’t go anywhere until Húnil does, I suppose.” And the woman seemed inclined to enjoy as many partners as possible. Or at least, any partner that wasn’t Thengel. Or, really, just Serion. If Tathren had been as unmanageable as Húnil then Gaeron would still be a bachelor.

Thengel cleared his throat, rousing her from her abstraction. “I don’t know much about modern courtship, but according to the old fashion it’s customary for partners to enjoy a conversation.” When she looked up at him, he said, “I’ll start. You haven’t told me what I missed last year.” 

Morwen felt her breath catch in her throat for a brief, fractured moment. “That would only bore the both of us,” she said coldly to his shoulder.  

“I could feign interest.” 

“But I couldn’t,” she retorted. “As they say, you had to be there.” 

 Morwen could be mistaken but she thought he looked a little stung. She relented even though she had no desire to circle back to a subject that had caused her enough pain for one evening. Even if he had hurt her, she found she didn’t enjoy the thought of hurting him back. 

“I wore this dress,” she offered, relenting a little.  

His eyes traveled down the length of the dress again, taking in all the places where the fabric pinched or curved or didn’t exist at all. “It becomes you very well.” 

“Thank you,” she said dully. 

If the color combination made Morwen and Serion look like a blood blister, she thought the dark purple with Thengel’s blue tunic looked like a bad bruise. Húnil had done much better in her choice of a gown. She seemed to compliment every man with whom she danced. 

But it was a lovely dress and Morwen did look nice in it. She wouldn’t have worn it otherwise. 

“Lord Serion said I reminded him of the Queen of the Stars,” she shared, curious to see how Thengel would take it. 

“This year or last year?” he asked, looking unimpressed. 

“Both.” She reflected, “He may not be known for his moral scruples but one can appreciate his constancy.” 

“Then I won’t point out that he’s never seen Elbereth to form a valid opinion,” he replied dismissively. 

Morwen’s eyebrows rose. “Then you don’t think I deserved the compliment?” 

“Your beauty shouldn’t be reduced to gauche comparisons.” 

Well, Morwen had enjoyed the gauche comparison…at least, the first time.

Perhaps sensing that his own compliment wasn’t received well, Thengel steered the conversation elsewhere. “How did you spend your day?” he asked. 

“Mother dragged me to all of the merchants in the city. She is determined to domesticate me.” 

He smirked, familiar with the long saga of Morwen’s slithering out of chores. “How did you cope?” 

She allowed some of her desperation to show. “I don’t know that I did cope. I performed spontaneous arithmetic.” 

His eyebrows rose. “My word.” 

“How did you spend your day?” she asked, not wishing to discuss the finer points of wholesale.  

“I had a bathtub installed.”

Ah. That piqued Morwen’s interest. She wanted to ask Thengel about the so-called bridal suite, especially as he seemed in no hurry to procure the bride she’d found for him.  

“That is very domestic, too. How is your project proceeding?” 

“Since yesterday?” he chuckled. “Other than the tub, nothing much has changed. It always goes slower than expected, especially toward the end. The millworkers keep disappearing into their hidey-holes. A bit like orcs.” 

Morwen stared over his shoulder. “That is too bad. I would have liked to see your modern, west-facing room, but we leave in three days.” 

That complacent smile came back. “You’ll be back after the harvest, as usual.” 

Morwen shook her head. “Mother says not before the end of Nínui next year, depending on the mud. Though it’s more likely that we’ll return after Tuilérë and my birthday have passed. I think Mother has had her fill of the city, which I don’t believe a few months in the country will cure. And you know Father does whatever she says.” 

“Not till after Tuilérë.” Thengel grew thoughtful. “That’s nearly another year.” 

Morwen tried to arch her brow the way he did, but it wouldn’t cooperate. “Now you look like you’re doing arithmetic.” 

“One must from time to time,” he replied a little abstractedly. 

“Well, perhaps if you were to marry before Mettarë I could talk Mother into sending me with Gaeron and Tathren to attend.” 

He gave her a strange look. 

She rushed to add, “If you invited me, that is.” 

His lips formed a stubborn line. 

“Listen,” Morwen began, understanding how to interpret his expression. “I know that tonight isn’t going as planned but there’s still tomorrow. When the happy event takes place, I’ll visit Húnil.”  

“That’s not the circumstance I had in mind,” he replied wearily. 

Before she could ask him to explain, the musicians gave another flourish and the song ended. All the couples retreated from the floor. Morwen was surprised to see each player begin to pack up their music and instruments. 

“Is it over, already?” she gasped. 

Thengel looked surprised, as well. “It can’t be past midnight.” 

Morwen stepped away from him, feeling like she had fallen through a portal where time passed differently. “That went by quickly.” 

He smiled at her. “So it did.” 

Morwen spotted Húnil approaching through the crowd toward their location in the middle of the floor. Her waiting-woman trailed behind with an exaggerated yawn. 

“The pair of you looked like you could have won a contest had there been one. Everyone’s saying so,” Húnil laughed. Then she asked Morwen, “Are you ready to go home?” 

Morwen tried to think of several cutting things to say but found that she could not. Húnil’s ceaseless good cheer had that effect on people. Instead, Morwen found herself nodding mutely as a wave of weariness caught her. She looked at Thengel to discover if he meant to leave with them, noting that he also looked unperturbed in his wandering love’s presence. 

“I must pay my respects to Ecthelion and his guests of honor before I leave,” he told them. “Oh, I see him there.” Then he looked down at Morwen and pressed her hand. “What’s your verdict before I go? Do you feel like a mop?” 

Did she? Only if mops were prone to confusion. “I’ll reserve judgment for another time, Thengel. Three glasses of wine may have tampered with my powers of perception.” 

The expression on his face suggested he agreed with her. “Safe home then.” 

“Safe home,” she repeated, squeezing his fingers in return. 

Looping her arm through Morwen’s, Húnil wished Thengel good night. Her tone surprised Morwen by containing all the good humor and friendliness it had held before the reception as if she hadn’t spent the evening jilting him. Morwen also noted that Húnil did indeed smell of Serion’s cologne. The man certainly was liberal in using it. And spreading it. 

As they left the hall, they were caught by a light rain that had begun to fall sometime in the night. Morwen could feel her hair frizzle without the benefit of a cloak and hood. Her mother had won that debate and Morwen regretted being stubborn about it. She reflected that she felt very similar to how she had a year ago at her presentation. Dissatisfied. A little sorry. But now she could add a deep dislike of purple…even if it did look almost blue.  

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked Húnil, though a waspish part of her didn’t truly wish to know. “Your hair is different.” 

Húnil patted her head. “I lost the combs somehow.” She laughed in her usual artless manner. 

Morwen decided to adopt a meditative silence the rest of the way home, which anyone would attribute to having spent a late night out. But at the gate to her family’s house, she decided she needed to extract one more promise regarding their outing on the Pelennor with Thengel before getting down from the cart.  

Húnil yawned. “I’m perfectly content to ride out tomorrow. But make it the afternoon, you know. Nahtar I’ll have to leave at home. I’m far too tired to handle him. Wouldn’t want him getting away and gobbling up some poor, innocent child.” 

That was for the best. Now Nahtar only made Morwen think of Lord Serion. She’d have to try drawing him as a cat once she felt a little less strongly about his theft of Húnil’s attention during the evening. 

They parted at her family’s gate. Morwen trudged wearily across the slick paving stones and up the steps where she rang the bell and prepared to wait at the door to be let in by a half-asleep servant especially waiting up for her. But the door jerked open after only a second or two. 

Morwen gasped at the man standing in the lamplight pooling out from the hall. The hem of his damp traveling cloak billowed in the damp breeze that glided over the threshold from the courtyard. He looked like he had just arrived inside and judging by the mud splattered all over him, he’d ridden hastily. 

“Gaeron,” she cried, “What are you doing home?” 

Chapter Text

“That is the question of the hour,” Gaeron muttered as he tugged her inside out of the drizzle. 

Morwen stared at her brother in shock as he shut the door behind them. Strands of damp dark hair clung to his throat and forehead and he still wore muddy riding clothes. He should have been dry and clean in Lossarnach. It was a day’s ride just to their family’s estate, and perhaps another half day to the vineyard where the newlyweds were supposed to be staying. 

While Morwen studied Gaeron, he studied her with his hands on his hips in a manner that reminded her of their mother. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded. 

Morwen thought that would be obvious from the way she had dressed. It also seemed like she should be the one asking questions rather than her suddenly present and overbearing brother. After all, everyone expected her to be at home but he had materialized out of nowhere when he was least expected. 

Gaeron leaned toward her and sniffed. “Whatever scent you’re using is a little too masculine, Mora.” 

Morwen blushed. “Would you say it reminded you of a boreal forest or a weasel?” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, shouldn’t you be on your wedding tour?” she countered. “Where’s Tathren?” 

His lips formed a grim line as he removed his damp cloak. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

Morwen felt icy shards of apprehension form in her stomach. From the sounds of it, Tathren had been kidnapped after all. A pity Gaeron hadn’t taken Morwen’s pin with him. Before she could inquire about the rescue party, Gwereneth appeared at the top of the stairs clutching her dressing gown around her waist. The servant Morwen had expected to answer the door earlier now peeked out from around his mistress’s shoulder as he followed several steps behind her.

“So it is you, Gaeron. What is this about?” their mother inquired. “Oh, there’s Morwen, too. That woman managed to bring you back in one piece, I see.”

Gaeron looked a question at Morwen, as if he meant, "What woman?"

Morwen shook her head once to indicate that she did not have the time or the energy to explain Húnil or her project on Thengel’s behalf. Besides, Gaeron did not appear to be in a romantic or particularly sympathetic mood. She felt she would need both qualities in a confidant before relaying the mishaps of the evening. 

Gwereneth descended the stairs and floated on bare feet toward her sitting room giving Morwen no time to explain anyway. Morwen thought her mother must be startled if she ran out of her bedroom without slippers. The servant took Gaeron’s cloak before disappearing into the sitting room after his mistress. 

“Come here, you two,” their mother ordered from the threshold. 

Gaeron gestured for Morwen to lead the way. Gwereneth settled into her chair while the servant lit a lamp for them. Gaeron hovered between Amarthor’s chair and the mantlepiece. 

“Is Father coming down?” Morwen asked, trying to decide if she should steal his chair or bring one over. 

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Gwereneth sniffed. “Sit down, Gaeron, and explain yourself. I’m surprised to see you in town, not to mention at such an hour. We agreed to meet again in Imloth Melui.” 

In the end, Gaeron took Amarthor’s chair and Morwen dragged one over for herself so that he wouldn’t have to raise his voice to be heard across the room at her usual sofa. 

“Tathren hasn’t taken ill, I hope,” Morwen said. Or been taken away completely. 

“She’s well enough,” Gaeron grumbled. 

Morwen rubbed her nose while feeling more than a little confused. “Then where is she?” 

Her mother gave her a look. “Morwen, hush.” 

Gaeron sighed roughly. “She’s with her parents.” Before Morwen could ask more questions, he held up his hand. “If you must know, she asked me to bring her back.” 

“To Minas Tirith?” Morwen wondered. “Didn’t she like the vineyard?” 

“I mean back to her family.” Gaeron rubbed his forehead. “For good.” 

Morwen gaped at her brother. Even Gwereneth looked a little ashen. The atmosphere in the shadowy room felt suddenly heavy. Morwen could feel it pressing on her shoulders. 

None of this news made any sense to Morwen. Was it possible to take back a whole marriage just like that? They’d had witnesses from all over Gondor. Even Rohan, if Thengel could still be considered a representative. Even so, the “why” eluded her. 

“But you’ve only been married for four…I guess, five days,” Morwen pointed out. “Tathren can’t be sick of you yet.”

And Morwen should know. Her brother and Tathren were two parts of the same soul. She had explained that to them often enough. 

“Morwen, you aren’t helping,” Gwereneth snapped. “Now, my son, what was the cause of this mercurial request?” 

“We had a fight,” he said to his knees.  

Morwen leaned forward. “What about?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Gwereneth retorted. Her sharp eyes drifted over her daughter. “Morwen, go to bed. You look spent. Besides, it’s best if I speak to your brother alone without him being peppered with imprudent questions.” 

“But…” 

Gwereneth gave her a look that could have shriveled a stone. 

Morwen surrendered. “I’m going. Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Gaeron.” 

As she passed from the room she gave Gaeron a look that guaranteed she would save up her imprudence to pry later. He cringed. She elected to interpret that look as reluctance to be alone with their mother rather than an aversion to her nosiness. 

“Goodnight, Mora,” he sighed. 

Morwen passed the servant waiting in the passage, envious of his ability to eavesdrop at the keyhole once she disappeared. As she climbed the stairs toward her room, her stomach felt queasy, partially from three glasses of wine, a slight quarrel with Thengel, and a lack of sleep, but mostly from her apprehensions about her brother’s marriage. And since her mother refused to allow Gaeron to explain in front of her, she had a long string of possibilities running rampant through her mind. 

Contrary to expectation, however, sleep found Morwen almost immediately upon throwing herself into bed. She only had time to reflect on one or two things that Thengel had said and done that evening which contrasted in a confusing way with the letter he’d written her a year ago. But as she couldn’t make sense of his actions and his letter side by side, she groaned into the blankets and let oblivion come. 

…

When Morwen woke some hours later, the curtains had already been drawn for her. She slipped out of bed and padded over to the windows, her heart sinking to her toes. The world outside looked gray with rain and disappointment.  

It only went to show that in order to manage a proper romance, one needed also to manage the weather. Or at least encourage its cooperation. She hadn’t learned how to do that, yet.  

Morwen unbraided her hair and reflected that she had work to do as she doubted the rain would have a cultivating effect on her subjects’ mutual affection. They hadn’t arrived at a state of harmony that could be enlivened by dripping on one another. 

Morwen threw a wrap around her shoulders and seated herself at the table in front of the window. A servant had left a basket with little buns covered by a cloth. There was also a pot of hot water kept warm by a chafing dish. She made some tea and while it steeped, she scribbled a hasty note to Lady Húnil on one set of stationary and another to Thengel on her father’s in order to cancel the day’s outing and to propose that they try again on the next. She rang a bell and left the letters outside her door. 

The sun simply had to come out tomorrow, she thought as she washed and dressed. That would be her last day in Minas Tirith and the final day of her agreement with Thengel. She refused to countenance Failure — she had no intention of spending another year with any possibilities hanging over her head. Thengel was a book that needed closing. 

With tea in hand, Morwen also snatched the basket of buns and went in search of Gaeron. After ducking in and out of his usual haunts, she found him hiding in the back stoop leading into the garden collecting rainwater like a fool. An extremely tall man even by her family’s standard, he sat hunched on a step with his knees almost to his ears. She took one look at him and then went back to fetch their cloaks. She put hers on before joining him outside again. 

After stepping out onto the stoop, she dumped Gaeron’s cloak over his head. She had to do some nuanced maneuvering to get her mug of tea and the basket of buns transferred from her single-handed grip without spilling. Then she settled onto the stoop next to Gaeron, forcing him to scoot over a little while he tugged the cloak off of his head. She lifted the cloth over the buns and tried one. As she nibbled it, she studied her brother…or what she could see of him from under his hood. 

Misery acted poorly upon his features, she thought. Some people could carry it off remarkably well, but it didn’t suit her brother. Gaeron had always looked more like the master of hounds rather than the sion of a lord…even a minor one. He normally brimmed with vitality and self-assurance and a general lack of polish that endeared him to people from most walks of life. He preferred plain clothes, exposing his skin to all the elements, and he cut his own hair with a knife…because he could. The ruggedness had appealed to many women of Gaeron’s acquaintance. But now he looked tired. Creased. And his hair hung in limp hanks or plastered to his skin in a way that made Morwen think uncomfortably of leeches. Of course, sitting out in a drizzle often had that effect on hair. It felt strange to see her robust brother reduced to moping. 

He’s thoroughly crossed in love, she thought, if it could drain the handsome out of him. Fortunately, she held in her possession the exact balm for broken-heartedness. Food. 

“Would you like a bun?” she asked, extending the basket toward him. 

Gaeron turned to glare at her for interrupting his sulk. “No, thank you.” 

Morwen didn’t let his lack of appetite deter hers. “So. Tathren’s leaving you, after all,” she began as she dug around in the basket for the warmest bun. 

Gaeron rolled his eyes. “Stars, Mora, you don’t temper the cream as the saying goes.” 

“Well?” she asked around a mouthful of bread. 

Gaeron looked like he meant to lecture her for talking with her mouth full but then realized he didn’t have the will. “Who can say?” he sighed. “Maybe we rushed into this marriage business. Do I really know her?”

Morwen felt a stab of guilt. After all, she had arranged the marriage. “What did you fight about?” 

He looked like he would rather step on the wrong end of a rake than tell her, so she encouraged him with her elbow. 

“Stop that,” Gaeron grumbled. “I think it’s because I didn’t like the dinner she ordered. At least, that’s what we were arguing about at the time.” 

Morwen swallowed the last bite of her second bun. “How would a dinner lead to ending the marriage? It sounds absurd.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Morwen gave him a look. “What did she order that could be so awful? Boiled kittens?” 

He almost smiled. “Well, it sounds stupid now, but it seemed like life and death back then,” he admitted. “She ordered some mess of stewed vegetables and grains.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes, that’s the problem,” he huffed. “That’s all she ordered. She said it’s healthy to have meatless days on occasion. Maybe in Pelargir that’s true.” Gaeron looked exasperated by this new idea. “But I explained that in Lossarnach only paupers eat nothing but vegetables and I won’t tolerate it at my table. How is a full-blooded man to live on rabbit food and rice?” 

The scene played out in her mind’s eye. “You said that out loud?” Morwen asked weakly. 

He crossed his arms under his cloak. “Of course.” 

“Oh, Gaeron,” Morwen groaned. “I imagine you made her cry.” 

Her brother blinked down at her. “How did you know?” 

Morwen’s fingers gripped the basket, fighting the urge to hurl it at his head for being so obtuse. “Because women don’t want to be talked to like they’re some dogsbody, Gaeron.” 

Gaeron gazed out blindly into the garden. “She did accuse me of being heartless and cruel after she put so much effort into arranging the meal.”

“And then you apologized, I hope?” 

Gaeron balked. “What? No. I told her that there was no need to get emotional,” he grumbled. “The kitchen probably had a cold roast on hand.”

“Gaeron!” Morwen chided. “How did that work for you?” 

He lowered his head. “She cried even more and declared she was going back to her mother.” 

“I could have predicted that,” Morwen sniffed.  

Gaeron looked askance. “I have a right to enjoy my meals.” 

“At Tathren’s expense?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You hurt her feelings, you oaf, just when she’s trying to get used to being your wife,” Morwen pointed out. 

He sliced the air with his hands. “Which is why I tried explaining my expectations.” 

“Or,” she countered, “You could have thanked her for a good supper and got used to stewed vegetables once in a while. It wouldn’t kill you.” 

“Well, it felt like it might at the time,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I've had, eh, a larger appetite lately.” 

Morwen frowned, scanning her brother for signs of illness. “Why?” 

He gave her another look. 

“Oh.” Combs. Morwen cleared her throat. “Did you try to talk her out of going away?” 

“Of course I did,” he groused. “I almost begged. But she’d made up her mind to leave as soon as possible. Anything I had to say fell on deaf ears.”

That only presented more questions. 

“How did she get here?” 

Several modes presented themselves. Morwen knew that Tathren and Gaeron had traveled to Arnach by boat, but travelers with shallower pockets could go by horse. Or a much slower journey could be achieved by purchasing a seat on a mail cart if their purses were very tight. Of them all, horseback would be the least likely for a woman by herself, but that was how Gaeron had arrived. 

He jabbed a thumb toward his chest. “I couldn’t just let her go by herself.”

Morwen shivered, picturing a day and a half’s long ride between quarrelers. “I imagine that was a comfortable journey for you.” 

Gaeron frowned sourly. “You’re full of vinegar just like Mother.” 

Morwen didn’t deign to acknowledge the comparison. “What did Mother have to say when you told her?” 

Gaeron worried the knuckles of his left hand. “Nothing at all. She just listened. I can’t tell you how unnerving it is when even Mother can’t think of something cutting to say.” 

Morwen felt she understood their mother better than Gaeron did for she hardly felt surprised. “I imagine she’s cowed by the gossip about to be leveled at our family once the news gets out that your marriage failed after less than a week.” 

Gaeron hung his head again, rubbing his temples. Morwen almost pitied him. Almost. 

“So that’s that?” she prodded. “You’re going to end the marriage over vegetables?” 

Gaeron looked at his hands. “I need to speak to Tathren.” 

Morwen shuddered at the thought. “Not until you’ve received some instruction.” Then she had a horrible thought. “What if Tangon won’t let you into the house?” 

“Tathren’s still my wife,” Gaeron insisted, looking affronted. “He’d be breaking the law if he barred me from her.” 

Morwen gave him a black look. “And you think leaning on the law will help your case if she’s unwilling to see you?” 

Gaeron deflated a little, head sinking low over his chest. “Well…no.” Then his head snapped up. “Morwen, you sound like you’re taking her side of things.” 

“I hope I’m not obscure.” 

His eyes turned sharp and accusing. “But I’m your brother.” 

“And you made her my sister…for the time being.” Morwen rubbed rainwater from her forehead. “So?” 

He looked like he hadn’t ever seen Morwen before. “I expected more support from the sister I helped raise, that’s all.” 

Gaeron often claimed that she would have grown up feral if he hadn’t taken her in hand. Morwen always suspected that had more to do with Thengel’s presence. Current events confirmed her opinion. 

Morwen slumped against Gaeron, putting her arm around his damp shoulder. “Oh Gaeron, it doesn’t follow that I don’t support you. In this instance, you wronged Tathren and behaved in an unfeeling manner.” She paused. “Listen, knowing you as I do, you’ve been picking at her all along and probably she couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Gaeron glared at her. She remained unmoved…metaphorically. He did shrug her off his shoulders. “How could you possibly come to that conclusion?” 

“A woman doesn’t run away for good after one disagreement. That’s all I mean,” Morwen insisted. “What other expectations have you been leveling at her since the wedding?” 

“Well…” Then he raised his chin. “It’s none of your business really and I can’t say I’m inclined to be forthcoming when you’ve already made up your mind that I’m at fault.” 

Morwen nodded coolly. “True, it isn’t my business but I would not be doing you a service by pretending you’re completely innocent.”

“Some sister you are.” 

Morwen tried not to feel too stung. “Getting angry with me won’t help you patch things up with Tathren, nor will refusing to see the part you played in it.” 

“What am I supposed to do, grovel?” 

“Yes!” Morwen’s fingers itched for the bread basket. She resisted only by considering that Tathren had more of a right to hurl things at Gaeron than she did. “Or at least admit you were wrong to hurt her feelings by behaving in an ungrateful manner. I’ll assist you…whatever you want. Only don’t wait too long to talk to her. Now’s the best time while it probably still feels strange to be under her parents’ roof again. Tell her you don’t want to separate and are willing to do what you can to be forgiven.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as if the idea strongly grated on his nerves. “I don’t fancy groveling to get my own wife back.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t upset her in the first place,” Morwen retorted. “If you want to go up to her parents’ lodgings, I’ll come too if that will help. My presence will distract Renneth. She thinks I’m unsteady.”

“You are unsteady,” Gaeron shot back. Then he eyed her warily. “You would really come with me? It’s bound to be unpleasant.” 

The thought of entering that house for such an errand held no appeal to Morwen. Neither of Tathren’s parents had any use for her except as a contrast to their own daughter. She got along fine with Tathren, though that might not be the case now. But she would go for Gaeron’s sake…and to assuage her own guilt.  

“Yes. I feel sort of responsible for the two of you,” Morwen admitted. “After all, you fell in love because I brought you both together.” 

Gaeron’s expression turned blank. “I don’t remember you being involved in any way.” 

“Well, I was,” she huffed, affronted. Ungrateful! “Now do you want me to come with you or not?”  

He shook his head. “I don’t have the courage for it yet.” Then he said, “I’ll go see Thengel. He always offers sensible advice.” 

“But I just gave you sensible advice.” 

He glanced down his nose at her. “Mora, you’re a dear but in these matters, you’re practically a child. Far too young to understand what happens between married people.”

“You’ve only been married for five days,” she grumbled. “It’s not much of a head start.” 

“Maybe but I have a good fifteen years’ head start on you in everything else,” he reminded her. 

“A lot of good it’s done you.”  

Gaeron’s fingers knotted in the limp hair at the back of his head, nearly pulling his hood off. “Well, I mean, look,” he reasoned, “You haven’t even been in love before.”  

Morwen gave him an icy glare. “Goes to show what you know about women. I’ve been in love dozens of times since I was eight years old.” 

“Infatuations don’t count,” Gaeron retorted. “You can’t compare that silly torch you carried for Thengel for years to a real love that makes you want to share your life with someone.”  

Morwen could feel herself turn scarlet and grow very warm under her hood and cloak. “Oh, certainly. Maybe not a fine healthy love that leads a man to insult a woman’s menu,” she bristled. “Gaeron, I could just brain you.” She raised the basket to illustrate her eagerness. 

Gaeron held up his hands to ward off an attack. “I’m only saying you’re too young to understand what happens between adults.” 

It seemed that scarlet would be a permanent color for Morwen. She started to see it like a mist before her eyes. Her cheeks felt blistering. When she spoke again, her voice sounded low like one of Nahtar’s warning gnarrs. 

“Everyone’s accusing me of being too young lately. Has it ever occurred to all of you that you’re just too old?” Before he could counter that, Morwen added, “Do you honestly believe that Thengel will have a better understanding of Tathren than I do?” 

“No,” Gaeron replied. “But he’s going to know more about what it’s like to be in my shoes than you do.” 

“Listen to yourself. How’s a perpetual bachelor going to know more about it than a woman?” she reasoned. “You just think he’ll take your side on principle but he won’t.” 

Gaeron clenched his jaw through her speech, then said, “We’ll see about that.”

 Morwen rose and bent over him. Some rainwater dripped from her hood, landing in his eyes. He flinched away, blinking. “Yes, we certainly will. Let’s go now.”

“What — with you?” Gaeron scoffed, clutching at the corner of her cloak to keep her from marching off. “You’ll only be in the way.” 

Morwen tugged her cloak free. “Yes, with me,” she insisted. “Besides, Thengel bought a new bathtub and I want to see it.” 

Gaeron gave her a puzzled look and stood up. “Why would you want to see Thengel’s bathtub?” 

“Doesn’t everybody?” she countered. 

“No, Mora, they don’t.” 

Morwen gathered up her mug and basket from the flowerbed where they landed when she had jumped up. “Well, I’m nosy, then.” 

That seemed to answer Gaeron’s view of Morwen in a satisfactory way. He relented but said, “You’ll have to get past Mother. She’s muttering about your inattentiveness again.” 

Morwen looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. “So, tell her you want me along. A great big man like you shouldn’t be so cowed by her.” 

“Hm. Goes to show what you know about men,” he echoed as he opened the door for her. “Come on then.” 

Morwen dumped the basket and mug on one of the heavy, antique tables that lined the passage. They didn’t make it to the front doors before Gwereneth swooped in on them from her sitting room. Both of them turned toward their mother with shoulders hunched like small animals cornered by a bird of prey. Her dark eyes took in every inch of their appearance. 

“Where are the pair of you going in this weather…and already drenched?” 

“Gaeron wants to visit Thengel for advice,” Morwen answered for him. 

Gwereneth turned vinegar eyes on her daughter. “And why are you going then? Haven’t you seen enough of Lord Thengel over the last few days?” 

Morwen batted her lashes in what she hoped to be a disarming fashion. “Moral support.” 

“That’s unlikely,” Gwereneth responded dryly.  

Gaeron cleared his throat. “It’s alright, Mother. I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

“Morwen has work to do here,” said Gwereneth, pointing at the floor. “We’re leaving in barely two days.” 

“We are?” Morwen gasped. “Even with Gaeron’s mess?” 

Morwen hadn’t realized that she’s made an assumption until her mother stated facts contrary to it. She’d somehow gotten the idea while talking with Gaeron that the family would prolong their departure due to the unfolding disaster. It would seem so strange to return to Lossarnach with Gaeron’s marriage unsettled. 

Gwereneth sniffed. “Gaeron can stay in town on his own. In fact, he’s likely to prosper better without you under his feet.” 

“Oh, but…” 

Gwereneth held out her hand. “Take that cloak off and come with me. Most of the supplies have arrived and I want you to check the crates for the correct quantities.” 

Morwen clutched the ties of her hood. “But Mother, don’t you think it would be a good idea to show public solidarity with Gaeron if word has gotten out that Tathren threw him over?” Then she lowered her voice, “And Tangon is less likely to challenge him to a duel in front of me.”  

Gaeron barely stifled a bark of surprise at Morwen’s about-face toward him, not to mention her outrageous supposition about his father-in-law. Their mother, however, went a little pale. Whether at the notion of her firstborn perishing at the hands of a merchant from Pelargir or of being the subject of gossip, Morwen couldn’t decide. 

“Oh, very well.” Gwereneth fixed sharp eyes on her son. “But don’t take all day — and mind your sister, Gaeron. Who knows where she’ll wander off to if she isn’t watched.” 

Morwen considered defending her honor, but shoved Gaeron out the door instead before Gwereneth could change her mind. And before Gaeron could put his foot in his mouth. They trotted halfway across the courtyard before she would let him slow down enough to give her a sardonic frown. 

“Now you’re on my side all of a sudden?” he muttered. 

“It’s not a matter of sides,” Morwen retorted. “I had to hit Mother on her weakest flank.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Family pride.” She cringed up at him. “And her firstborn. She likes you best.” 

Gaeron shook his head. “What a little schemer you’ve turned out to be.” 

“Well, don’t let it bother you. I’m still the black sheep even though you’ve wrecked your marriage in less than a week.” 

“Thanks for that,” he groused. “I’m more bothered that you think my father-in-law wants to split my side open. You’re quite the sensationalist.” 

“Well, mightn’t he? I would be the first to knock some sense into you if my daughter came home crying of ill-usage.” Then she observed, “The thought disarmed Mother pretty quickly.” 

Gaeron swallowed. “True, which means she considers it a possibility.” He paused, grabbing Morwen’s arm to stop her. “Understand that I’m no coward…” 

“I’ve never heard you accused of being one,” Morwen agreed. “Though I have heard—”

“Yes, well…perhaps we should hurry to Thengel’s. It won’t save my marriage if I have to gut Tathren’s father in the street.” 

Morwen gave him an arch smile. “You don’t think he stands a chance against you? Mother believes that merchants are barely a step up from corsairs.” 

Gaeron returned the expression. “I couldn’t let him kill me. As a knight of the realm, I have a reputation to maintain. I’d lose face with my peers.” 

“Yes, I suppose if you died then they’d give all the lush posts to other warriors. How embarrassing.” 

“Exactly. Let’s go.” 

Morwen agreed that they should hurry and yet she felt a chord of reluctance, too. She’d convinced Thengel of her suitability as a matchmaker. It seemed ill-advised to show up on his doorstep with evidence of her fallibility. Although, the marriage hadn’t officially dissolved yet…and no one could blame Morwen for her brother’s bullish personality. It was like building a house, she philosophized as Gaeron rushed her along. The structure could only be as sound as the materials used, no matter how good the plans were. She was a matchmaker, not a matchkeeper. She’d try to remember the wording just in case. 

Chapter Text

Once on the street, Gaeron charged toward the circle gate with the urgency of a long overdue cavalry. Morwen had to skip to keep up with him. She soon grew breathless but he failed to notice. He only slowed down once they reached the sixth circle and had to pass the house leased by Tathren’s parents. They saw no signs of any of the family. Ornate shutters were drawn against the weather — and possibly Gaeron. After that, he trudged on like a man bent under a heavy load. Morwen felt sorry for him yet relieved for her legs and lungs.

They passed Húnil’s lodgings. Thengel’s home stood only a few more doors down. Beyond that, Morwen could see the roof of the stables and the gate of the citadel. It surprised her how often she had passed his home without realizing it.

Gaeron finally noticed Morwen lagging when they reached Thengel’s gate. He offered his arm as they crossed the courtyard and then ushered her to stand in front of the door just beyond the reach of the dripping gutter while he rang the bell. Before long, a servant opened the door to them. The boy indicated that his lord was at home, but up in the attics. If they would wait a moment, he would retrieve his master as quickly as possible.

In the absence of any other servants, Morwen allowed Gaeron to peel her wet cloak from her shoulders and deposit it along with his on a dusty stand nearby. She felt glad it would take a moment before Thengel could join them, as it would allow her to catch her breath.

Morwen observed their surroundings with curiosity. She thought she once understood Thengel’s motivation for spending hours at their home. But in light of last year’s letter and the state of the ancient pile he called home, she saw light.

“Is it always like this?” Morwen asked her brother.

“Hm? Like what?”

“Empty.”

“Oh. Yes. Thengel’s what you’d call threadbare.”

Gaeron wandered down the passage a little, noticing the open door to the front room. “Well, this is a right mess,” he observed as he poked his head inside. “More so than usual, anyway. What happened?”

“Thengel’s been renovating. Didn’t you know?”

Gaeron shook his head then stepped into the space a little more to look around. “What does he want so many shelves for?” she heard him wonder to himself. “Even Father’s library wouldn’t fill them all.”

Morwen almost joined him but the sound of descending footsteps began to echo through the stairwell. Thengel appeared around the final bend in the staircase followed by the boy. The sleeves of Thengel’s plain linen tunic were rolled up past his elbows and he hadn’t finished buttoning the facing below the collar, making him look very much at home. And very handsome, she admitted to herself.

“Morwen?” Thengel gave her a warm but confused smile. “This is a surprise. I received your — er, your father’s note, but...” Then he froze on the stair and stared in the direction of the sitting room. “Gaeron, what are you doing in the city?”

“Hullo, Thengel,” Gaeron replied dourly as he ducked back into the passage. “You seem well.”

“Never better. You, on the other hand…tell me what’s the matter.”

“How do you know anything’s the matter?” Gaeron asked.

“You came to see me while you should be on your honeymoon.”

Thengel descended the remaining steps and the two friends met in the middle of the front hall, clasping wrists. Gaeron didn’t let go, seeming inclined to drag Thengel along with him toward the sitting room.

“Too true. I do want to speak to you in private. It’s pressing.”

“Of course,” Thengel answered, eyebrows dipping in concern at his friend’s urgency, “But are you going to leave your sister to fend for herself?”

Gaeron blinked at Morwen. She could tell by the set of his jaw that he’d returned to his earlier sentiment that she would only be in the way.

“Is it really something she can’t hear?” Thengel asked.

“I’ve heard him already,” Morwen answered for her brother. “Gaeron doesn’t want me to hear you giving him the same advice that I did.”

“Now, Mora —” Gaeron began.

“I’m happy to wait here in the front hall,” Morwen told them stoutly. The smile she gave them contained a footnote: And I know I’ll find everything out eventually. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account. My sketchbook will occupy me.”

Gaeron looked her up and down. “Where do you have a notebook?”

“In my pocket.” She pointed at her knee.

“You’re what?”

Thengel intervened before Morwen could launch into a technical description of Húnil-inspired dress patterns. “I can’t allow that. There’s nowhere to sit, for one thing. Let me send for Sadril.”

Thengel nodded at the boy, who disappeared down the passage. He barely had time to return before a door in the back of the house could be heard opening and closing again. Shortly after, an iron-haired woman appeared from the back passage.

“Morwen, this is my housekeeper.” He turned to the older woman. “Sadril, show Lady Morwen the progress on the upper floors while I speak to her brother.”

Morwen’s eyes lit up. Finally! She had been so curious ever since Húnil had mentioned the project. Although Sadril seemed a little surprised by Morwen’s presence, the woman calmly agreed to serve as an attendant to the young lady in her master’s absence.

Once the men disappeared, Morwen turned expectantly toward the housekeeper who had been busy observing her, in turn. The woman’s expression could only be described as skeptical.

“You could stay and eavesdrop,” Sadril offered. “I won’t give you away.”

Morwen laughed. “Thank you. But I’d much rather explore.”

“Then this way, please. You may wish to hike up your skirts. It’s very dusty where we’re going. It’s impossible to keep up with it. Fortunately,” she said dryly, “The workmen have left for the day, so you won’t be troubled by the cacophony.”

Morwen gripped her skirts, careful to keep them from sweeping the steps as she followed Sadril. She felt pity for the woman. Having the house turned upside down had to be a trial for the staff. And if the workers had already left for the day, then they must have come very early.

“So, you are Lady Morwen,” the housekeeper began as they climbed the stairs. “It’s nice to put a face to Master Gaeron’s sister. Excuse me for speaking freely, but your work is famous in this household.”

“My…work?” Had Thengel told his housekeeper about her role in finding him a wife? She had sort of thought that was private between them. And her mother.

“Oh yes, there’s a whole gallery of your sketches from over the years. My master had them framed but they had to be stored for the renovation.”

“Theng—er, Lord Thengel framed them?” Even Morwen hadn’t bothered to do that with her work. In fact, the ones she didn’t burn tended to lay around in odd places growing dogeared.

“Oh yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Your talent has certainly improved over the years. Cook and I prefer your pencil sketches to the oils, if I may say so.” She grinned impishly. “The lines have more bite. We especially admire the way you’ve captured our master’s hair. Such a unique color. He’s a bit sensitive about it. It’s always amusing to watch him struggle between praising your skill and the utter chagrin of seeing himself represented in a humorous manner. He says you’re incurably irreverent. But he’s known you so long that the admiration always wins out in the end.”

Morwen laughed, though she blushed at this little insight into Thengel’s private remarks about her. She began to see why Sadril spoke so frankly since he didn’t hesitate to discuss his opinions of Morwen’s caricatures with the staff.

“He is sensitive about his hair.” Then she admitted, “I didn’t know he kept any of my sketches.”

Sadril glanced over her shoulder. “Certainly. As I’ve said, he’s quite proud of them.”

Thengel had never told Morwen that. In fact, she always assumed that after a little amusement — or mortification — he’d destroyed them like Gaeron always did. Morwen wondered if she shouldn’t have burnt the ones from the wedding.

“I thought we’d start at the top of the house and work our way downstairs if you like, ma’am. Perhaps the gentlemen will have completed their conversation. Then my master can finish the tour himself on the floor with the principal work. He’s taken a keen interest in every detail so far and it will be nice for him to be able to engage in a little boasting.”

Morwen glanced around the first-floor passage as they wound upward on the stairs. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering in from open doorways. The bare floor lay covered in dust, too. Crates lined one wall and a large box had been broken down but not yet taken away.

“This project seems like it’s greatly disrupting the household,” Morwen reflected.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sadril breathed. “But the work was gravely needed. The house had stood empty for a very long time before my master purchased it. And that was a long time ago too. With his status in the country so uncertain, I think he never thought too much about improving it.”

“Why the change of heart?” Morwen asked, curious for more morsels of insight into Thengel. “After all, he’s only getting nearer to having to return to Rohan every year.”

“Well,” Sadril drawled, “I believe it may signal a certain happy event for him.”

Morwen nodded. “Yes, he does seem happy about improved indoor plumbing.”

Sadril gave her an odd look. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But I meant that I believe he may soon choose to finally marry once the house returns to order.”

Morwen missed a step and clutched at the banister. “Was that his intention when he started the project?”

Sadril turned back to Morwen from the upper steps. “Oh, he wouldn’t confide that to his housekeeper but we can read between the lines.” She gave Morwen a conspiratorial grin and a wink. “What man who has lived in a house for twenty years with little interest in its upkeep suddenly developed a keen interest in property value?”

“I know,” Morwen exclaimed. “It seemed like a flimsy explanation to me, too.” Then she asked, “When did he start planning all this?”

“Oh. It’s hard to tell. I first heard about it a little more than a year ago. He had to communicate with the architects all the way from the port, so it developed slowly until he returned to the city a few months ago to supervise the project.”

A year ago! Morwen began to cough a little. She had to clear her throat. Such a dusty house.

“Here we are. Now, this floor used to have a series of smaller rooms for family or guests,” Sadril explained. “It’s hard to know. The blueprints in the Archive are so old they’re practically dust. Now, if my lady will just step through to the room on the east side of the floor, which I believe will serve as a nursery—”

“Nursery?” Morwen parroted.

Sadril looked a little sheepish except for her eyes which reflected a rebellious glint. “Of course, that’s a conjecture.” She folded her hands together. “Forgive me, I should have mentioned that you’ll be receiving the unauthorized tour. My master may have other ideas for these rooms.”

But they’d be wrong, Sadril’s tone suggested.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Morwen laughed. Thengel had strategized poorly by setting her loose with his housekeeper. It felt like getting the unauthorized explanation of him, as well. “What makes you think that this is a nursery?”

“I’ve had enough placements in my time to recognize a nursery when I see one.”

She gave Morwen another knowing look. Morwen found she enjoyed Sadril. Instead of pointing out her youth and ignorance, the housekeeper seemed inclined to speak woman to woman.

Sadril pointed to the far end of the space to a doorway. “There’s a bedroom and sitting area at the back for a nursemaid with a connecting door to this one.”

Morwen stepped deeper into the space feeling a little odd. She had to agree with Sadril’s assessment. It was certainly arranged like a nursery. On one side of the room, little cupboards and shelves had been built into the wall. None of them came any higher than her hips. The plaster had yet to be painted and the floors were covered in a thick layer of dust. Bricks lay piled up on the exterior wall where a mason would eventually complete a hearth around the raised fireplace that would be difficult for little ones to crawl or stumble into.

Morwen left a trail behind her as she crossed the floor to look out the windows flanking the fireplace, which also could have benefited from a bucket of soapy water and a rag. Her fingers twitched to draw pictures on the glazing. The crown of an ancient poplar filled the view, providing gentle green shade (Morwen imagined when the sun happened to show itself) and filtered out the view of the city walls and rooftops. A well-appointed, peaceful room.

“The windows are all new,” Sadril added while Morwen lingered to admire the tree. “Very costly, glass being what it is. But then he’s spent precious little of what he’s earned over the years in bounty while stamping out corsair activity on the coast with Lord Ecthelion.”

Morwen nodded mutely, reminded uncomfortably of Thengel’s words about his post during the reception the night before. Thengel’s financial success had never occurred to her before but it made sense that his time spent on the delta had been lucrative. Glazed windows were a newer fashion in the city. Most houses only employed shutters and then only in foul weather like today. Glazed windows largely represented status. It suggested that a future king lived here. Morwen so seldomly thought of him that way except to tease him. This reminded her that she had better try to remember it…even if she was incurably irreverent.

“If my lady will follow me, the other principal room on this floor used to be two guest bedrooms. As Lord Thengel is rarely at home, they were hardly used. They knocked down a wall to expand the room here. If I’m not mistaken the enlarged room is either meant to be a large second library…or a school and playroom, depending on how one chooses to interpret it.”

Morwen smiled at the half-complete bookcases and cupboards and Sadril’s less-than-subtle aspirations for the space…and her master. Sadril seemed to be wishing a rather large family on Thengel. The space certainly did provide ample room for many children to enjoy themselves if the weather didn’t permit going into the garden. The green space lay several stories down within view of the windows. She also noted with satisfaction that although the outer wall faced west, this room also benefited from a south-facing window that would help boost the lighting in the morning while the sun still climbed its path along the spine of Mindolluin toward the sea.

“I imagine that this room gets lovely light,” she remarked.

“Now it will, yes. And good fresh air which is necessary for healthy children,” Sadril opined, “But then, I grew up on a farm on the Pelennor, not cooped up in the city. I’m hardly impartial.”

Morwen nodded, sharing a similar prejudice. “I grew up in Lossarnach and understand you perfectly.”

Sadril smiled. “Would my lady like to see the next floor?”

Morwen nodded, following her guide to the stairs, listening to the list of changes that had been made. This floor had originally contained seven rooms, four of which were bedrooms, with combined dressing areas and a water closet. Now the number dropped down to five.

“I heard from Lord Thengel that a bathtub’s been installed,” Morwen broached, hinting that she might like to start there.

“Did my master call it a tub?” Sadril harrumphed. “Modest man. You could stick a tree in it and call it the Court Fountain.”

This forthright speech startled Morwen into a laugh. “That would explain why he had a wall knocked out. It’s any wonder they could get it into the house.”

“Egregious I name it,” Sadril continued. “It’ll require a battery of servants to fill or empty the thing if the so-called plumbing fails. And I can tell you that he hasn’t got the manpower to drain a lake.”

Morwen felt a little surprised by the overt censure from the housekeeper, but she could understand Sadril’s point of view. Before now she hadn’t thought that Thengel had an egregious bone in his body. What had gotten into him?

“Would you say that the purchase is a little out of character for him?” Morwen asked.

“I wouldn’t say it’s out of character for a romantic fool,” Sadril sniffed. “It only shows that my master has some interesting hopes for this lady he’s besotted with.”

Morwen felt her throat grow warm. “Is there one?”

Thengel had denied it yesterday when he’d told her that women fled from his fate to return to Rohan. And he’d ordered the bathtub before she’d introduced the idea of marrying Húnil.

“There must be or he should have thrown his money into the Anduin instead and left the house alone.” Then Sadril admitted, “He’s never actually dropped a name to me.”

“He hasn’t to me either and I’ve been nosy enough to ask,” Morwen confided in return. Thengel certainly would have told her if he had a woman in mind or else he wouldn’t have allowed her to go chasing after wives for him.

“Hm.” Sadril looked at her sideways.

“Shall we inspect the interesting plumbing?” Morwen suggested.

“It’s enclosed. To be honest, the suite seems a bit cavern-like at the moment even with the tub,” Sadril warned her. “It’s not much to look at.”

“I suppose once the furniture has been brought back, it’ll feel more cohesive,” Morwen mused. She found herself drifting toward the doorway.

“Lord Ecthelion’s wife suggested he purchase several large rugs for that purpose,” Sadril said with disapproval evident in the lines of her face. “Let’s start with the smaller rooms. They have more personality.”

And by personality, Morwen understood Sadril to mean easier to maintain.

Morwen reluctantly allowed herself to be led away. She tried to imagine the dusty, deserted spaces in full use as she inspected the smaller rooms with Sadril. They entered a lady’s sitting room — or what Sadril supposed would be a lady’s sitting room given its size and location relative to the main suite. A large window provided a view of part of the courtyard and the street as it curved, perfect for spying on one’s neighbors and pedestrians. Morwen looked at the descending city circles with their stony roofs, the peppering of trees and vines that the city never seemed to have enough of. And below all of that, the Pelennor as it rolled down to the river and the Harlond. She felt the minute muscles around her eyes ease immediately at the sight of the green terraces and beyond that, the hazy impression of the forests and vales of Lossarnach. She imagined whoever eventually filled the role of Thengel’s wife spending pleasant hours gazing out the window and thinking of home…that is…of the fine view.

“It faces south,” Morwen observed. “Do you suppose that’s still the fashion?” Or had Thengel chosen it for another purpose?

“It’ll have to be,” Sadril droned. “The room isn’t moving no matter what that silly architect says.”

Morwen laughed again, warming to Sadril with each irreverent remark. “Very sensible.” Then she wondered, “What is the size of the staff?”

“Oh, there’s me, Cook, and the boy.”

“Is that all?” Morwen gasped, turning from the window. No wonder Sadril had been put out by the suggestion of adding more rugs to the house — and the threat of standing water. The housekeeper would view that suggestion through the lens of a woman who would have to do the extra cleaning.

Sadril nodded dourly.

“If Th…Lord Thengel intends to put these rooms to use, then he may need to increase his staff.”

“Thank you, lady,” Sadril sighed. “I’ll let him know you said so. He’s heard me say it often enough to no avail.”

“Heard you say what?” Thengel asked as he appeared in the doorway followed by Gaeron.

Morwen turned toward him with a smirk. “That you are short-staffed for the size of this house,” she replied for Sadril. “And it’s victimizing them all.”

Thengel blinked at her. “Do you think so?”

“Yes, I do,” she answered stoutly.

“Morwen.” Gaeron scolded, “Is it any business of yours?”

Sadril excused herself then, giving Morwen an appreciative bob before disappearing down the back staircase.

“It’s only me who lives here,” Thengel said after Sadril disappeared.

“It looks like you may be thinking of a change, however,” she pointed out.

Thengel began to look guarded. “Has Sadril exposed me?”

“She has definite ideas.” Morwen cocked her head to the side. “But you’ll have to be the judge if any of them are true.” Then she added, “You could probably fit quite a few pens in the space upstairs. For all the cats.”

“What’s this about cats?” Gaeron asked.

Thengel regarded Morwen with a half-amused, half-exasperated frown. “Not what I had in mind for that floor.”

Morwen glanced at her brother, taking pity on Thengel. “I’m only teasing. You’ll likely have to build a kennel in the garden for that. Although, I particularly liked the convenience of the east room for providing an adjoined closet for the groomer. Though the lovely shade tree will be lost on the cats. They might prefer the full sun in the room across the passage.”

“What groomer?” Gaeron said. “Thengel, just what are you getting into here?”

Thengel looked a little mutinous like he had during the disastrous dinner party, so Morwen intercepted her brother with a question.

“Have you received your advice?”

Gaeron nodded, standing beside Morwen to gaze out the window. Rainwater trickled down the glass in fat runnels. She glanced away from it to inspect her brother’s profile.

“Was it anything like mine?” she pressed.

“Speaking of cats, Mora,” Gaeron intoned, watching the traffic on the street below. “Remember the saying about curiosity.”

Morwen made a face at him.

Thengel cleared his throat. “Did Sadril complete the tour?”

“She showed me everything but the new suite.” Then she added, “She did mention that you might want to brag about it but the tub worries her.”

“The tub?” Thengel’s expression pinched briefly. “What did she say?”

Morwen scanned the breadth of Sadril’s opinions, taking in the fact of Gaeron’s presence and the delicate state of Thengel’s feelings for Húnil.

“She said it’s egregious and that she’s worried it will take an army to fill it if the new plumbing fails.”

Thengel released the breath Morwen only just noticed that he’d been holding. “That’s nonsense. It’s coming from the roof and the drain…I’ll show you.” He said to Gaeron, “Are you equal to a brief tour? I’d appreciate an opinion from an impartial observer.”

Morwen’s heart skipped. She’d come with Gaeron for this specific purpose, feeling she would gain some valuable insight into Thengel. For example, the swift, nail-biting pace of modern courtship might be totally wasted on him to the extent that she felt justified in accusing him of laziness. However, it might possibly be said, if Sadril’s opinions were credible, that he was the master of taking the long view. Either way, she hardly believed his bathing accouterment could be as vast as everyone reported it to be.

Gaeron leaned on the sill, still gazing out the window. “If Morwen wishes.”

Whatever Thengel had told Gaeron had put him in a more solicitous mood, at least. Still, he sounded a bit indifferent for a man with the opportunity to see a so-called bridal suite and Thengel’s enormous tub. Given his station in life, Morwen thought Gaeron would be more interested. It might give Gaeron some useful ideas. But then again…perhaps not.

Thengel gestured for Morwen to lead the way out of the room when Gaeron made a strangled sound in his throat. Morwen thought he had suddenly fallen ill, but he seemed well enough to leap away from the window and clamber out of the space and down the stairs. A few echoing moments later, the front door slamming reverberated all the way up to the first floor.

Morwen took her brother’s place at the window, unlatching the pane so she could lean out. Rain lashed her face, but she leaned out farther. She heard Gaeron shout Tathren’s name as he disappeared through the gate.

“Well, that explains it,” she murmured.

“I half suspect he really came here to keep a watch out for her,” she heard Thengel say somewhere from behind. “Please don’t fall.”

“I won’t.” Morwen pulled herself back inside. “And I think you’re right.”

She latched the window and then turned, dabbing water droplets from her forehead with the back of her sleeve. Since she’d sewn in pockets, she’d stopped wearing a purse on her belt. But she’d only thought to fill the pockets with her art supplies, which meant she’d forgotten a handkerchief. Thengel offered her a clean one. She reached for it and then realized when her hand met his that Gaeron’s departure left just the two of them.

“I’m unescorted,” she blurted out.

Dust that had been disturbed by Gaeron’s precipitous exit danced in languid whorls between them in the half-light. Flimsy. Thin. A non-barrier. Morwen bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly conscious of the confusing things Thengel had said and done the evening before, along with the light Sadril had shed on his recent domestic decisions. It was easier to forget in Gaeron’s presence, but he had gone.

“That is a hair-raising prospect. Hold on.” Thengel stepped to the door, speaking softly to someone waiting on the other side. Morwen thought it must be the boy. She heard the softer footfalls of a young person running the length of the passage. Thengel turned back to her. “I think we’d better finish the tour another time.”

Of course, Gaeron would disappear just before she got to see the infamous bathtub. Despite Thengel’s words, she knew she’d never get another chance. But she didn’t see a way around it. Without Gaeron in the house, it didn’t seem wise to go snooping around Thengel’s bedroom even if his servant went with her. In fact, it felt a bit like they were holding their breath all of a sudden. She wasn’t used to feeling this way with Thengel.

A few very quiet moments later, Sadril reappeared. Thengel explained to the housekeeper that his other guest had been forced to make a precipitous departure and would she call a covered cart for Lady Morwen if her brother didn’t return in a few minutes.

“I can walk home,” Morwen insisted.

“It’s raining harder now,” Thengel likewise insisted as he gestured for Morwen to follow Sadril back to the ground floor. “Even if Gaeron does turn up again, you’ll be soaked through before you reach the street.”

“I’m made of sterner stuff than that, Thengel,” she said dryly.

“I agree, but do you wish to risk the possibility of falling ill before tomorrow? It’s the final day of our pact.”

Morwen couldn’t argue with that so she didn’t try. Choosing between a drenching in the street or staying sensibly dry with Thengel required little thought. They found themselves at the bottom of the staircase again, waiting in the front hall. Sadril disappeared with the boy to see about hiring a cart. Morwen remained on the bottom steps while Thengel paced to the door, glanced out at the rain, then returned to lean against the railing next to her. Gaeron had yet to materialize. Morwen saw that he’d left without his cloak as it still hung from the rack. She tried to take that in a hopeful light that her brother had reunited with Tathren and that they were talking it out — or that they at least had the courtesy to let him in from the rain.

“I’d invite you into the sitting room,” Thengel told her after another moment of standing around. “But all of the furniture’s in storage except for some sawhorses and an old door I’m using as a desk.”

“Never mind that.” Then she said, “This project still has quite a ways to go, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Thengel agreed, casting a dissatisfied eye over the place. “I thought I had more time.”

“More time before what?”

Thengel didn’t seem to hear her question. “May I offer you something to drink while we wait?”

Morwen shook her head. “No, thank you.”

When the minutes dragged on with no sign of her brother, Morwen began to feel the effects of rushing to Thengel’s home and then immediately climbing several stories. She brushed the dust from the step as best she could, then sat down to wait — either for her brother or the cart. The latter seemed more likely. She glanced around the stairwell and at the vantage point through the banister. Then she grinned up at Thengel.

“Consider the trend set,” she declared.

His eyebrows puckered. “Trend?”

“You are officially entertaining a guest on the stairs.”

Thengel returned her smile while simultaneously looking ill-used as he most likely remembered their conversation from that terrible dinner. “I wish you’d come to visit before I went to the effort of rearranging the drawing room, then.”

“I would have if you’d invited me,” she pointed out.

His smile grew into a smirk. “It’s hard to do when I have no one else’s stationary at hand but my own. Your mother would not have allowed you to receive a letter from me.”

Morwen shook her head at his lack of imagination. “You could have gifted Sadril with a set of papers.”

Thengel grinned. “You’re too clever for your own good, Morwen.”

“Thank you,” she said regally. “I’m always happy to share my cleverness with my dear friend Thengel.”

“Too late, as it happens.” He shrugged. “The whole project seems like a waste since it’s outmoded before it’s ever been used.”

“Oh, but think of all the poor, backward people who still appoint their furniture east instead of west,” Morwen soothed. “You wouldn’t want to get too far ahead of them. We’ll keep staircase entertainment between ourselves.”

“Thank you. That raises my spirits.”

She pressed her hand against her lower back. “I can’t say it’s comfortable.”

“We’ll need to employ cushions, I expect.”

She nodded. “You will. I thought a runner might do the trick, but I wouldn’t mention it to Sadril. The thought of all that brushing would leave her catatonic.”

Speaking of which, Sadril had completely disappeared without any sign of returning. She and Thengel regarded one another.

“I think I had better get home without waiting for my brother. It looks like either Gaeron forgot me or Tangon’s killed him in a duel.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Thengel told her. “The cart should be here soon.”

Morwen shook her head. “You’d better not. Then I’ll have to explain to my parents that my unsteady brother deserted me at your house. Mother has had enough ruin to contemplate since early this morning.”

Thengel reached over the banister to squeeze her shoulder. “Gaeron isn’t ruined and neither are you. This will pass.” Then he asked, “Where’s that sense of triumph from a few days ago? All your wit and sparkle?”

Morwen stared wanly ahead and tried to remember how she had worded her little speech about blueprints and building material, but she couldn’t. Too bad. It was almost clever. She didn’t deserve wit and sparkle.

“It shriveled up,” she finally admitted, “in the face of defeat.”

Thengel crossed his arms where they leaned on the banister. “Defeat? With your gifts? Impossible.”

Normally she would have enjoyed the teasing but now she felt foolish. “Thengel, I think I might be cursed.”

His expression of mild curiosity shifted to consternation. “Cursed? That’s nonsense.”

Morwen clasped her hands together. “It isn’t. You see before you a woman humbled by circumstance.”

To his credit, Thengel squashed a grin. Less to his credit, he failed to squash it before she noticed.

“Smirk all you want, Thengel,” she grumbled. “Look at Gaeron and Tathren. I made the match and now it’s falling to pieces.”

“Morwen, you aren’t cursed,” he insisted. “You simply give yourself too much credit.”

Morwen stifled a snort. “Oh, is that all?”

“You may have introduced Gaeron to Tathren,” he told her. “But no amount of your so-called talent could have induced them to join their lives together if they hadn’t wished it of their own free will.”

“But how would they have known what they wished without a little push from me?” she countered.

Thengel gave her an ironic look. “The same way lovers have found one another for life ages of Middle-earth without any assistance from Morwen of Lossarnach, believe it or not.”

“Notice how many of those turned out miserably.”

Thengel glanced down momentarily and grinned before saying, “Morwen, the only power you truly possess is a thorough knowledge of your brother’s tastes with a little assistance from time and geography.” Then he added, with a look that suggested both chagrin and admiration, “And a lion’s share of confidence, seemingly.”

Morwen exhaled. “That’s an unromantic point of view. You make it sounds as if my method’s nothing more than making educated guesses at large banquets.”

“Understand, my girl, that’s exactly what I mean.” Thengel came around the banister to sit next to her, heedless of the dust. “Under this light, you couldn’t be responsible for a quarrel between your brother and sister-in-law. Newlyweds argue all the time.”

Morwen made a face at that.

“It’s as guaranteed as a downpour in Nínui and completely natural when two people suddenly join their lives together,” he finished.

Despite his blunt assessment of her character and total dismissal of her gifts, Morwen somehow felt gratified. It had been a long time since she’d confided in Thengel like this. No pretenses. Easeful even when occasionally too direct in an unflattering way toward her. At least two years had passed she deemed, or perhaps longer, since she had really confided in him. Back when her misguided feelings had altered into something new and interesting and more than a little fluttery, she’d stopped. The silly torch Gaeron had mentioned had gotten in the way and then Thengel had disappeared down the river. What did Thengel say the previous night? She wore levity like a cloak. Certainly, nowadays that felt safer. But like Gaeron, she needed a confidant and she missed Thengel.

“He spoke very rudely to her,” she said, studying Thengel’s expression, wondering if he was right not to view Gaeron’s situation as a disaster or if he simply wished to soothe her feelings.

Thengel picked up a piece of chipped plaster from the step and tossed it into the corner of the stairwell where other scraps had congregated. “I expect Gaeron’s learned a valuable lesson in that regard.”

“Maybe.” But Morwen knew better. “It’s been very uncomfortable at home, I can tell you.”

He looked at her with concern. “How so?”

Morwen bit the inside of her cheek while she considered what to tell him. “You say I’m not responsible for their falling out. Fine.” She hugged her arms around her knees as if warding off a draught. “But Gaeron still wants me to choose sides. But as my new sister, Tathren deserves some loyalty, too. I can honestly say that when he related some of the things he’d spoken to her I could understand her point of view far better than his.”

“You told him so?”

Morwen nodded.

“Béma save you.” Thengel bumped her shoulder with his, making her meet his eyes again. “And how did you manage that conversation without getting tossed out of a window? I could use some advice.”

Morwen almost smiled. She leaned against his arm. It felt reassuringly sturdy. “We were outside already. That helped.”

“Ah.” He gave her a crooked smile, then said, “No fear, Morwen. They’ll come around. It’s decent weather for a dramatic apology. He should stand under Tathren’s window getting a good soaking, preferably while reciting poetry. Don’t you think? You’re the expert.”

“It sounds like a perfect way to catch an unnecessary cold,” Morwen sniffed, making him chuckle. “Do you think Gaeron will apologize, dramatically or otherwise? He’s a bit of a blockhead. And I’m certain he hasn’t memorized any poetry.”

“Perhaps he’ll develop a gift for spontaneous recitation. Stranger things have happened.” Then more seriously, Thengel said, “To answer your question, I believe he will own up to his mistakes. Beneath the ego and bluster, he loves Tathren and he knows that he’s behaved like a rare idiot — and he’s had enough time for that knowledge to sink in.”

“What if Tathren’s really made up her mind to leave him?”

Thengel thought about that. “Well, I don’t know Tathren as well as I do Gaeron but I doubt she feels truly eager to live under her father’s roof for good. She perhaps needed to send Gaeron a clear message he could understand about what sort of treatment she expects. You know how words tend to bounce off of him.”

“Bounce? They disintegrate.” Morwen wrinkled her nose as she considered Thengel’s point of view. “He does seem more impressed by action.” She glanced at him. “How did you grow so wise?”

“Maturity and experience,” he answered deadpan, frowning at the stairs. “When Ecthelion first married I stood in for his punching bag a few times, too.”

This illustrated the part that she had found difficult to articulate. It felt a little like Gaeron had chosen to vent his spleen at her rather than at the source of his upset — himself.

“It doesn’t last,” Thengel assured her. “They’ll be like the stones that the river smoothed down over time.”

“Stones may be smooth but they’re still hard-headed,” she replied, surprising him into a grin.

“That should be a proverb,” Thengel teased. Then more soberly, he said, “Little collisions are bound to happen. It’s how you choose to navigate them that matters. Gaeron dug in his heels and Tathren chose flight.” He paused, considering something. “I can tell you from experience that the combination only prolongs the discord rather than resolves it.”

At first, Morwen thought that Thengel meant Ecthelion again, but then understanding dawned on her. “You mean how things remain unresolved with your father?”

Thengel nodded. Morwen felt gratified again. He very seldom offered up information about his relationship with King Fengel. So much so that she often forgot to properly think of him as an heir to a throne, including when she drew his picture. He carried himself like a man who had one day sprouted from the ground like a tree…independent of anyone until he’d come to Gondor. She threaded her arm through his, feeling pleased by the little glimpse of himself that he’d decided to share with her.

“In your case, you ran to Gondor.”

“Fortune provided me with somewhere to go,” he answered, patting her hand where it rested on his arm. “Turgon could have sent me packing after a month but he chose to make me a member of his household instead. Not every young person in difficult circumstances has a net in place to catch them as I did.”

A safety net. Morwen hadn’t considered that Thengel’s situation might have been very different. She’d taken his presence for granted because he’d always been there. The thought that he might have returned to Rohan to suffer under his father, along with the conclusion that they never would have met, made her eyes and throat burn. But as grateful as she felt that he had remained in Gondor, one question lingered.

“I can tell that Gaeron misses his wife and wants this separation to end. But Tathren has her parents if she wishes to dissolve the marriage. You’ve been able to stay in Gondor. But do you ever miss Fengel? Do you think he wants to reconcile?”

Thengel looked grave as he smoothed his thumb over her knuckles in an absentminded way. “We have a saying in the Mark, Ða ne sacað þe ætsamne ne beoð.”

“What does it mean?”

“They do not quarrel who are not together.” Thengel laughed bitterly. “If Fengel wishes for different circumstances, he’s concealed it.”

“But you?”

He looked down his nose at her. “How could I miss an old grease pot like him when I have you to keep my head spinning?”

Morwen felt the unusual sensation of a blush. “Thengel, be serious.”

He relented with a sigh. “Truthfully, Morwen, I miss the man I wish my father would be with almost an ache — if that isn’t completely nonsensical,” he said self-consciously. “Now, the man that he is, well, that man brings out a side of me that makes Gaeron look like the picture of sense and serenity.”

Morwen studied his face which looked bleak. “I can’t imagine that at all.”

Thengel’s expression turned from grave to grim. “No? Well, it’s true, I’m afraid. You…probably would not have liked me very much had you met me then.”

“Are you certain that you aren’t giving yourself too much credit?” she teased, throwing his words back at him. “Provide me with an instance.”

Thengel considered any number of instances, judging by his silence. Then he said, “This unpleasant side tends to make its appearance when someone tries to take what is mine.”

Morwen stared at him. “Well, you kept it well hidden last night.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“There wasn’t a speck of possessiveness when Serion snatched Húnil out from under you,” Morwen argued. “You left her completely undefended.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Serion knows where I stand.”

Morwen rested her cheek on the hand that wasn’t captured in his. “Well, it went over my head.”

“I can see that,” Thengel sighed.

Sadril caught them after a time, still murmuring together on the stairs in this fashion. She announced herself by clearing her throat. Thengel stopped drawing circles on the back of Morwen’s hand with his thumb but he didn’t let it go.

“The covered cart is here, my lord,” she announced with a clipped tone. “Shall I accompany Lady Morwen or…?” Her eyes swiveled between them.

Morwen nodded as she withdraw her arm from Thengel’s. He helped her rise.

“I enjoyed the tour, Sadril.” She thanked the housekeeper as she dusted off the back of her dress. “Too bad we couldn’t finish it. I would have loved to hear your remarks on the final room. Know that I’ll continue to fight for better staffing. Your master understands that I am always working on his behalf so he won’t mind being pestered by me.”

Sadril helped Morwen with her cloak. “Thank you, my lady, but he can be stubborn.”

“I can hear you both,” Thengel warned.

Morwen grinned at Sadril, ignoring him. “Then I’ll pester his wife.”

“Huh,” Thengel scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“If he can get one,” Sadril replied.

“I’ll work on that, too,” Morwen assured the housekeeper. Then she held out her hand to Thengel in farewell. “Don’t forget we have an engagement tomorrow.”

That look came back from last night. “Understand, Morwen, I have no intention of forgetting our engagement.”

Morwen felt buoyed by Thengel’s tone. He sounded far from indifferent. As she drew up her hood and stepped out into the rain, she reflected that perhaps the delay to their outing had provided a blessing in disguise by giving him the space to understand his feelings after the lackluster performance at the reception. She decided to congratulate herself early for a job nearly well done.

Her only regret, and she tried to persuade herself that it was a little one, was that this was the last time she would get to play Thengel’s confidant. After tomorrow, that would be Húnil’s task.
…

Chapter Text

No answering note from Lady Húnil awaited Morwen when she arrived home, but she chose not to regard that as an issue before nightfall. Gaeron hadn’t returned yet either, so the treadwheel of recent events seemed to have halted for the time being. 

With nothing else to do, Morwen succumbed to assisting her mother. She was rewarded with finding one error in the order of fabric, which gave Gwereneth the delight of feeling justified for her caution. And it gave the woman a focus for her attention beyond her unsteady children. 

Rather than going herself to sort out the missing items, however, Gwereneth sent a servant in her place. Instead, she sat down to a light meal with Morwen while Amarthor took his upstairs with his books. She nearly vibrated with satisfaction at having caught a merchant attempting to cheat her. 

“It might have been an honest mistake,” Morwen pointed out after listening to her mother vent her spleen for a considerable amount of time.  

“You’d be naive to think so. I’ve never known a merchant to make an honest mistake when it’s in his own favor,” Gwereneth scoffed. “You see now why I take the precautions that I do? You never know what might be going on right under your very nose. Assume that you’ll be cheated and you’ll be prepared for every eventuality.” 

That seemed like a bleaker outlook on life than Morwen preferred, but she replied, “Yes, Mother.” 

Gwereneth jabbed the air with her knife. “You had better believe I’ll remind our merchant friend of this mishap next spring. His isn’t the only warehouse in the city so his prices had better reflect his contrition.” 

“I’m certain he already regrets ever seeing you,” Morwen murmured. 

Gwereneth sighed contentedly. “So. Did Gaeron get his advice?” she prodded.

Morwen glanced at her father’s empty seat, wishing she could get him talking about beavers rather than go down this rabbit hole with her mother. It felt like a violation of Gaeron’s privacy. 

“He did but I never found out what it was,” Morwen answered, hoping that would smother her mother’s curiosity. “I received a little advice too.” 

Gwereneth glanced at Morwen. “Why would you need advice? You never heed any of mine.” 

“For handling Gaeron.” Morwen shrugged before she could stop herself. 

“Gaeron’s troubles are none of your business, so there’s no sense in bothering over them,” her mother said but without much heat, too happy at discovering herself being crossed. 

Morwen decided to try minding her own business in her bedroom. Her windows overlooked the sunken garden, which now could also be called a sodden garden. The rain had not stopped but it had lightened up. 

She retrieved her papers. For a moment, she debated working in oils, but with a smirk, she remembered Sadril’s opinions from earlier. The oils went back in their case and the pencils came out. Her sketching had been somewhat neglected, which perhaps explained the disorganization of her own thoughts since undertaking her project on Thengel’s behalf. She tried drawing Húnil as Tar-Míriel but had to abandon it. She couldn’t create an iteration where the so-called lamentable queen wasn’t making unseemly eyes at Ar-Pharazôn, who had developed a perfumed halo. Morwen’s ancestors were no doubt spinning in their mausoleums. 

Later, there came a knock on the door which made Morwen realize how dark it had grown in the room. She called for whoever stood on the other side of the door to enter while she lit a lamp on the table. 

Gaeron let himself in with a tray of tea and little eatables, as well as settings for two. He used his foot to shut the door behind him. 

“Where have you been?” Morwen asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. 

He gave her a jaundiced look as he joined her by the window, which supplied all the answers she needed. 

“What’s this?” she asked, gesturing at the tray. 

“I missed supper, but I also wanted to talk before you went to bed,” he explained. “There’s enough for two if you’re hungry.” 

She recognized a bribe. Food did tend to be effective with her. “Thanks.” 

“You made it home in one piece, I see,” Gaeron observed after they’d tucked into the meal. “Sorry for running off. I’m thoughtless lately.” 

“That’s all right. Thengel arranged everything.” She helped herself to a roll and the contents of the butter dish. 

“That’s why I didn’t worry too much once I’d realized,” he gabbled while he used his fork to smash some roasted carrots into a pulp. “I knew he’d sort it out. You’ve always been like a little sister to him.” 

Morwen frowned at that and asked, “Did Tathren agree to see you at least?” 

“No,” Gaeron admitted glumly. 

Morwen stared at him, dropping her roll. “But you ran off hours ago!” 

“It took ages just to get into the house,” he explained. “They kept turning me away. Once I convinced them I wouldn’t budge unless one of them spoke to me, Tangon made me ride down to the Pelennor with him.”

“In the rain?” 

Gaeron nodded grimly. “In the rain. He didn’t say a word the whole time. Utterly miserable.” 

Morwen tried to imagine this and gave up when it began to feel very uncomfortable. As much as Gaeron had brought this on himself, she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. 

“Did you speak to him at all during the ride?” she asked. 

“I did.” 

“And?” 

“I told him that I regretted my behavior toward Tathren and that I wanted to patch things up with her, as Thengel suggested.” 

“As I suggested first…” she mumbled. 

Gaeron carried on without hearing her. “I gabbled to that effect for several hours because I couldn’t tell if he had absorbed any of it or not. It must have worn him down eventually because when we returned to their lodgings, he went inside, making it clear he wanted me to wait on the stoop like an errand boy. I stood out there for ages. Just as I decided to give up, a servant brought me a note from Tathren.” 

Morwen leaned forward. “What did it say?” 

“Only that she’ll allow me to see her tomorrow.” 

Morwen gave him a cautious smile. “Well, that’s something. Isn’t it?” 

“Maybe.” Gaeron cleared his throat. “I sort of hoped you would come with me to serve as a buffer for her mother since you offered this morning. It’s going to be hard enough convincing Tathren to take me back without Renneth hanging around like a buzzard, reminding her that I’m a brute.” 

Morwen’s stomach dropped. “Oh, Gaeron, I would but…I can’t tomorrow.” 
 
So seldom did her much older brother ask for her help that Morwen felt guilty denying him. But she had committed herself to Thengel’s cause. Tomorrow would be the most important day yet. 

Gaeron blinked at her. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to attend to your housework for once?” 

“I’m meeting Lady Húnil,” she replied, trying very hard not to make faces at her brother. “We’re going to have an outing with Thengel.” 

Gaeron waved this obstacle away. “Thengel won’t care if you postpone it.” 

“I care,” she pressed. “Tomorrow’s the last day or I’ve failed.” 

“Failed at what?” 

Morwen brushed some crumbs around the table with her finger. “I only had a week to find Thengel a wife and—” 

“Eh?” Gaeron shoved his small finger into his ear as if to clear it. “Say that again.” 

“I’m acting as Thengel’s matchmaker,” she repeated, looking her brother in the eye.  

Gaeron looked askance. “Thengel wants to marry? Our Thengel?” He made a face. “And he thinks you can help? Has he gone mad?” 

“Does it surprise you that he’d want to marry, too?”

“Well, he’s taken his time.” Then Gaeron added, “Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time Thengel…” He glanced at Morwen and decided not to finish his sentence. “Anyway, how did you get roped into that? The whole scenario seems highly improbable for him, at least.” 

“I roped myself into it. Now that you’re married I’m finding a wife for him. I promised Thengel on the night of your wedding when he came to visit.” 

Gaeron looked like he had a case of spontaneous arithmetic. “What was he doing at our house that night? He went out with the rest of our friends.” 

“He said he wanted to console us now that you were gone. But the real reason for his visit had to do with all of your friends going home early to their families after drinking your health. He’s alone and miserable now that you’ve all abandoned him.”   

“No, he isn’t,” Gaeron argued. “Wait…then are you saying you’ve found someone?” 

Morwen nodded. “Thengel has to decide by the end of the day tomorrow if he wants to pursue Húnil romantically. He only gave me a week, so I’ve had to — Gaeron.”

Gaeron’s mouth had dropped open, which provided a ghastly sight. He still had a half-chewed bit of dinner in there. Morwen reached over and nudged his chin up. He swallowed without chewing all the way. 

“Húnil? Tathren’s cousin?” he spluttered once he could speak. “Not on your life, Mora. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I did. I gave me the idea.” 

“Why on Middle-earth…” He squinted at her. “What do you know about wives anyway?” 

Of all the people in Gondor, Morwen would have thought that Gaeron would be the last one who needed to see her credentials. 

“I am a woman,” she reminded him.  

Gaeron looked her up and down, searching for evidence. “Barely,” he concluded.  

“Well, I introduced you to Tathren.” 

“I don’t remember that.” 

Morwen bit down a few choice words about her brother’s forgetfulness. “Regardless, I think she’s perfect for him.” 

Gaeron shook his head. “Not even a little bit.” 

“What’s wrong with her?” Morwen demanded as she crossed her arms. Then she felt a sliver of guilt. Perhaps she should have asked what was wrong with Thengel. That unfortunate bias in his favor wouldn’t shake loose no matter how devoted he’d become to Pelargir in recent years. 

“Nothing, only she’s as much a sister to him as you are.” 

Morwen’s nose wrinkled at that. “Thengel needs a wife, not a sister. He already has two of those even if he hasn’t seen them in twenty years.” 

“I agree but you’re following the wrong scent.” 

“How so?” Morwen began ticking off traits on her fingers. “Húnil’s intelligent, independent, good-humored, experienced in managing an estate, well-connected, rich, and beautiful. She has her own hobbies. She’s even an enthusiastic horsewoman.” She spread her arms out. “I thought of everything!” 

Gaeron pointed his spoon at her. “Yes, but you should probably know that she likes her independence. It’s a well-established fact in Tathren’s family that Húnil prefers being unmarried.”

Morwen scoffed. “Everyone prefers to be unmarried until they meet the person they want to marry. It’s my role to help them see it.” 

“She’s rejected no less than five proposals and all from decent fellows with deep pockets,” Gaeron told her. “Even if Thengel did develop feelings for her — and he won’t — she would likely turn him down.” 

“Well, I think she’s about to change her tune. What’s not to like? He’s—” 
 
Gaeron gave her a vinegar look reminiscent of their mother. “I know what Thengel’s like without you giving me a litany, Mora. Brace yourself to be disappointed. I’ve been sword brothers with Thengel since you were in swaddling. Current circumstances may not reflect it but I do know a few things about people…especially Thengel people.”

Morwen felt her native good humor fraying as her brother poked holes in her ship. “If you know so much, then who do you suggest for a match?” 

Gaeron snorted. “I know better than to suggest a who, especially to someone like Thengel. The man doesn’t like to be told.” 

“But Thengel allowed it,” she argued. “Telling is the point of a matchmaker.” 

Gaeron gave her a long look. “Then if I were you, I’d be asking myself why he allowed such a harebrained scheme.”

Morwen opened her mouth to retort, but it petered out. “One would think that the answer is obvious.”  

“You’re wasting your time.” 

Morwen sniffed. “We’ll see about that.” 

“So you’ll come with me tomorrow?” he asked hopefully. 

Morwen threw a piece of her roll at him. “No. Now I’ve got to make good on my promise to Thengel and prove you wrong."
 
Gaeron brushed the bread away, looking sour. “You can’t push him into anything. Remember, Thengel’s a match for you in stiff necks but he has experience and maturity on his side.”

 “And I have youth and enthusiasm on mine.” 

“That won’t wear him down,” Gaeron replied as he collected the remnants of their meal onto the tray. “He knows you too well not to expect all the usual attacks. There aren’t enough apples in Gondor or in Rohan to pelt him into marrying Húnil. Mark my words.” 

“I haven’t thrown apples at anyone in years.” Then she winced because she’d certainly considered it over the last few days. She needed new methods. 

Gaeron gave her a knowing frown. “Goodnight, Mora. If my marriage fails tomorrow because of your doomed quest, I won’t hold it against you for too long.” 

“If it does fail, then you’ll be free to marry Thengel yourself and I’ll get to wash my hands of both of you,” she retorted at the back of him as he exited the room. 

“Very amusing. Go to bed, strange child. You have an uphill day tomorrow and so have I.” Then he shut the door before she could come up with any more verbal darts. 

Once Gaeron left, Morwen thought only of bed. She undressed, worrying that Húnil had not sent a reply to her note. Maybe she didn’t think it necessary? Still. Despite her bravado in front of Gaeron, the outing seemed too uncertain. She wanted to gallop time forward to find out how it would turn out. This could not fail, no matter what her brother had to say. 

As she got into bed, Morwen reflected that at this time next year, she might be back in the city for another wedding if her genius wasn’t cursed. Perhaps Húnil would make her a bridesmaid out of gratitude for her efforts? The thought gave her a sudden flash of misery that managed to escape from the tangle of emotion that she had until recently kept coolly squashed. She needed Thengel officially out of reach for this very reason, even if it made her own future look very bleak and uninteresting. 

Morwen went through the plan again in her head. Meet Húnil at her home on the way to the stables where Thengel would join them. Ride down to the Pelennor. Impress Thengel with Húnil’s horsemanship while serving as a sharp contrast. Accidentally fall behind to give the lovers privacy. Die a little on the inside for the greater good. 

She would have to find a place to abandon her charges, of course. Perhaps a barn would present itself for her to wander into by happy accident. Maybe there would be an attractive plowman to flirt with to help the time go by. She didn’t know how long it would take Thengel to come to the point with Húnil. Judging by his behavior at the reception, he seemed to take a long view of life so Morwen couldn’t count on it going quickly. Perhaps she should pack a pillow and blanket in case it necessitated spending the night in a hay loft — without the plowman.  

…

The sun returned the next morning, removing the weather from the list of potential obstacles. Morwen dressed quickly into riding clothes and nearly collided with Gaeron in the passage on her way out of the house. He was on his way to find breakfast. When he learned that she meant to walk to Húnil’s home on her own, he made her wait for him to get ready so he could go with her. 

“I planned to wait until after Tathren’s family had breakfast,” he grumbled after reappearing from his chambers. “It’s probably something meatless with no cheer.” 

“You don’t have to walk me,” Morwen insisted as they descended the stairs together. “Go eat.” 

“Yes, I do. What are you thinking of, trying to go alone?” 

“It’s only one circle,” Morwen argued. She’d been back and forth so many times since they’d first arrived in the city that she seriously doubted the need for an escort every time she stepped so much as a toe beyond the family gate. “How much trouble could I get into?” 

“I shudder to think.” 

They took a more leisurely pace now that Gaeron wasn’t worried for his life. Still, Morwen’s heart pounded away in her chest for a reason she couldn’t quite discover. Despite the fresh air, the gentle morning light, and the rain-washed streets…something felt not quite right. 

They passed Tathren’s house. 

“Are you sure — ” Gaeron began, half reaching for her arm. 

Morwen realized now why her brother insisted on escorting her. He wanted a second chance to persuade her to help him distract Renneth. He looked like he had a mind to throw her over his shoulder and march her inside as he’d done countless times in her youth. She backed away. 

“Quite sure.” She decided to shut him up by putting him on his toes. “You know, it surprises me that you want Thengel to die alone.” 

Gaeron stopped short and gaped at her. “What? I never said that.” 

“Then how come you’re trying to talk me out of my outing with him?” 

Gaeron grabbed her by the elbow and walked onward. “Because it’s a fool’s errand, that’s why.” 

“You may be eating your words in a few hours.” 

“With any luck, I’ll be eating a good roast,” he muttered. “Don’t worry. When you realize how wrong you are, I’ll take the high road.” 

“Don’t bother. I’m already up there.” 

They marched the short distance to Húnil’s lodgings, reiterating much of what had been said the evening before. Morwen rejoiced in the one fact that she’d now so thoroughly annoyed her brother that he ceased to want her around. 

“Well, this is her place,” he said when they reached the gate. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” 

“You’ll need it more where you’re going,” she retorted. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mora.” Gaeron gave her a look, then turned back the way they came. 

Morwen watched him go with a feeling of deep annoyance before entering through the gate. Then she squared her shoulders and approached the front doors. A slab-faced footman answered the bell. He blinked once at her, then once over his shoulder. 

Facing her again, he said, “I’m afraid my mistress is not at home —” 

“Yes, she is,” Morwen waved away his words. “Lady Húnil may not be at home to others but she has an appointment with me today. You would have received a letter for her yesterday confirming it.”

“Ah…” the footman glanced up at the ceiling. “There was a letter…but…” 

“If she isn’t ready yet, I am happy to wait,” she replied with the air of someone who intended to become irremovable. 

The footman blinked at Morwen. “Er. This way, my lady.” 

He led Morwen down a series of passages toward the back of the house, ushering her through a door that opened into a shaded atrium stuffed to bursting with wisteria. She blinked up at the flowers, which dripped yesterday’s rain onto her forehead. This isn’t what she’d expected. Most people met their guests in a drawing room. 
 
“Is Lady Húnil out here?” she inquired. 

The footman hesitated. “No, lady. Please enjoy the flowers while I will fetch her…directly.” 

Morwen watched him disappear trying not to give too much credit to her impression that his final statement held no conviction. Something wasn’t right. 

She looked around her. The property included an enormous garden relative to most private outdoor spaces in Minas Tirith. At the end of the breezeway, a circular terrace opened up to the sunlight. Beyond that, old fig trees circled the terrace in ever-expanding ripples supported by raised beds. They provided ample shade with their broad arms. 

With nothing better to do, Morwen decided to inspect the trees for early fruit while she waited for Húnil. She didn’t like the idea of being caught twiddling her thumbs. The reason might have had something to do with her mother, who couldn’t bear for anyone around her to be idle. 

As she entered the shade, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. An absolute silence lay over the garden. Not even the sound of pigeons could be heard. She didn’t need a hunter like Gaeron to tell her that something watched her from deeper within the shadows.  

Swallowing, she glanced up. Yellow eyes set in a pristine black face gleamed at her from the upper branches of the oldest fig. The cat’s relish dish ears pinned forward. Morwen had observed far too many of their barn cats stalk mice and birds to mistake the signs. 

Morwen backed slowly away, just a step or two back into the sunlight before pausing. She kept her eyes on Nahtar. 

“I know you’re there,” she told him. “So there’s no sense in creeping around.” 

Nahtar slinked along the branch, leaping onto another. Morwen’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen him move so fast before. She would have been grateful for the languid creature she’d met in Renneth’s garden. 

Nahtar halted on a branch, lowering his belly down but his hips and shoulders remained raised and taut. Ready. It was no use wondering if he wanted to play or hunt. She had yet to meet a cat where the two weren’t the same thing. 

“Cats rarely attack humans, you know.” She took a step backward. His tail flicked. “On the hierarchy of eatables, I’m higher than you…so….” 

Nahtar’s relish dish ears twitched to the sides before pinning forward again. That appeared to be news to him. And currently, anyway, he held the high ground. 

“Nor do I have any dried sardines or liver on me…so why not stay right where you are…” 

Morwen took several steps backward, which threw his tail flicking rhythmically almost like one of those charmed snakes she’d read about in Harad. A sure sign that he either felt interested or irritated. Maybe he only felt aggravated by her trespassing. 

Morwen held up her hands, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone had come to get her yet. At least she’d gotten closer to the breezeway. “I’ll get out of your territory in a moment. Promise…”

No sign of Húnil or anyone else. Which probably meant that nobody knew to come looking for her except the slab-faced footman. And he had clearly forgotten about her. Nahtar began winding up his haunches. 

“See here, Nahtar,” she said sharply, trying a different tack. “You can’t have me for breakfast this morning. I have an appointment to keep. Oh…stars!” 

The cat’s muscles contracted as he prepared to leap. Morwen spun away just in time to feel the cat’s muscular flank buffet her shoulder before he landed in the carefully trimmed shrubs behind her. Once she regained her balance, she made a dash for the breezeway. 

Morwen heard the scrape of nails on the paving stones even as she flung the door open and let herself in. She slammed it behind her in time to feel Nahtar ram against the solid wood. Her fingers scrambled for a latch to safely lock the door. 

Heart racing from the encounter with Nahtar and the knowledge that they would be late to meet Thengel, Morwen took only a moment to catch her breath and steady herself. Her legs felt like jelly but she felt determined to go in search of Húnil herself. The ground floor seemed strangely deserted of servants anyway. The unhelpful and possibly murderous footman had disappeared completely. 

Though Morwen had been in the house once, Húnil had led her straight to the second floor where the cats were penned, so she didn’t know the exact layout of the house. She decided to start with the sitting room. Unless the woman had taken Thengel’s architect’s point of view, the room would certainly be found on the east side of the house. With only a slight tremor in her hands and knees, she retraced her steps down several passages. While deciding which direction to take from the several that presented themselves, she thought she heard something like the scrape of a table leg against the floor. She took off in the direction of the sound until she came to a set of double doors. The drawing room, certainly. One of the doors stood slightly ajar. 

Morwen let herself in only to walk into darkness. She blinked while her eyes adjusted. The furniture, which consisted of very old-fashioned high-backed sofas and chairs, had been grouped into several clusters on either side of a large fireplace, situated under two massive windows. The curtains were drawn, which meant that the only light available to her had spilled in through the passage.

Morwen could see no one. With the curtains drawn, it looked as though the servants hadn’t even properly attended to the room yet. It was a waste of good sunlight. 

Uncertain of what to do yet simultaneously possessed by her mother’s housekeeping instincts, Morwen crept a few steps deeper into the gloomy space toward a window where she meant to take care of the curtains herself. Something on the floor near the sofa caught her eye. It looked like a boot. Morwen walked toward it.

Then she heard a sound that reminded her very much of Húnil’s demonstration at the dinner party a few days earlier. 

“Nahtar?” she whispered as she approached the back of the sofa, wondering how the cat could have gotten inside some other way and beaten her to the sitting room. 

But instead of Nahtar, she found Húnil locked in an interesting embrace with a gentleman. It was hard to recognize him from his bare back alone, but she eventually identified Lord Serion by scent. Only he could smell like a well-groomed if underdressed stoat. Whatever they were doing made the sofa lurch and the legs scrape against the floor again. Morwen froze long enough for them to notice her. Then she beat a hasty retreat from the room. 

“Front door,” she barked to the footman who had finally materialized at the opposite end of the passage.

He seemed to understand perfectly. 

“This way, lady,” he answered. 

They hadn’t progressed very far when Morwen heard her name called. She stopped and turned slowly as if tar had moored her feet to the floor. Húnil marched toward her, looking stunned but determined. Her color heightened, she gripped her housecoat closed as she strode down the corridor. 

“Wait a moment, please,” Húnil said. Then at the crossroads between passages, she nodded toward the right. “This way.” 

Húnil passed Morwen, who followed her reluctantly down a few doors into a library. That provided another first for Morwen. She normally loved to walk into a room full of books, especially the kind that required ladders. But now she heartily wished she’d gone with Gaeron to his miserable in-laws. She knew for certain that with the rift between them, Gaeron and Tathren would not be found abusing the furniture this late in the morning. 

Once Morwen crossed the threshold, Húnil shut the door and gestured toward the furniture in an unspoken invitation to sit. Morwen winced at the sofa, unable to unsee Serion. 

“Morwen…I’m shocked. So sorry. I had no idea you were coming by…” 

This marked the first time Morwen had ever seen her friend ruffled. Yes, it had been a short acquaintance, but she felt surprised. Húnil’s character seemed so open to immediate interpretation and completely unflappable. 

“But we arranged for our outing with Thengel — er, Lord Thengel.” Morwen tried to shake her mother’s voice out of her head. “I sent a note yesterday,” she ended lamely. “The footman said you’d received it.” 

Húnil blinked up at the ceiling. “Oh…I remember now.” She patted down her hair. “I’m afraid I got carried away…” 

And she had carried Serion right along with her, Morwen thought. A lump had lodged in her throat. She tried to swallow around it but found it very difficult. 

“But what about Thengel?” she asked, sounding choked. 

“What about him?” Húnil looked concerned in an artless way. 

Morwen held her hand out, gesturing toward the world at large. “You danced with him. We had an engagement for today…” 

The corner of Húnil’s mouth puckered as if she were chewing on it while she thought. “I suppose if you can give me a moment to get ready, but…” she looked longingly at the door. 

Morwen steeled herself to be candid since her first attempt had been too vague. “Húnil, how can you closet yourself with Serion when you’re meant to spend the day with Thengel?” 

“I don’t see how that enters into it,” she answered, genuinely confused.

“But…don’t you have any feelings for Thengel at all?” 

Húnil laughed, then covered her mouth. “Oh…you were serious.” She pressed her fingers to her chin. “Are you saying that you believed Thengel and I….” 

Morwen bunched her skirts with her fingers. “That was the whole point of this week — the point of this outing today.” 

Húnil’s expression turned blank. “But I only agreed to go because you clearly needed a chaperone who wasn’t your mother.” 

Now Morwen blinked at her. “Pardon me?” 

Húnil patted Morwen’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

Morwen gaped at her for a moment before remembering herself. “No! I intended to chaperone you and Thengel. And then I planned to lose you somewhere so that you could declare your love today.”  

“Hogwash.” Húnil gave her a knowing look. “Young lady, no one can get a word in with Thengel let alone a declaration whenever you are in his presence. And while I feel perfectly happy to assist you in a tryst with the heir of Rohan, I am not inclined that way myself.” 

Morwen blushed furiously. “But it’s not my tryst.” 

Húnil’s eyebrow arched. “Isn’t it?” 

“No, it was supposed to be yours.” 

Húnil’s brow furrowed. “But I clearly understood Thengel to be in love with you. I admit I enjoyed teasing him about it during the reception the other day. He spent the whole time talking about you.” 

“Me?” Morwen frowned. “But I swear you were flirting with him.”

Húnil shook her head. “Well, we have gotten our bobbins crossed, haven’t we?” 

She walked away from Morwen toward a credenza. Several bottles containing amber liquids stood next to a set of tumblers. She unstoppered one of the bottles and poured its contents into two of the glasses. 

She said, “I could have sworn you only wanted me around to help get you both out from under your mother in a respectable way. Happy to help, of course, but…em…not in the manner you are thinking.” 

Húnil returned to Morwen’s side, offering her a glass. Morwen sniffed its contents and immediately felt the inside of her nose burn. She let Húnil lead her to a set of chairs near the empty fireplace. 

“Sit. Drink,” Húnil ordered. “You’ve had a shock. Frankly, so have I.”  

Morwen obeyed. Whatever she’d been given contained so much alcohol that it erased the flavor before the liquid could reach her tongue. But it did have a blessed numbing effect after a moment of fire. After she drained half of it, she began to feel like her old self again…but like her old self if someone had stuffed her head inside a pillow. 

“May I ask you one impertinent question?” she asked with some concentrated effort. 

Húnil snorted pleasantly. “Please do.”

Morwen clutched the glass to her chest. “What does Serion have that Thengel doesn’t?” 

“It’s rather the other way around,” Húnil said with a clap of laughter. “Serion has no restraint. It’s delicious. I’m so glad you introduced us. It feels fated somehow.” 

“Oh, stars.” Morwen cursed her dark genius and wished she hadn’t asked after all. Although, despite the blush that especially vexed her since she entered the house, she thought she could see Húnil’s point. Serion made Thengel appear very stayed and aggravatingly complacent. And his refusal to grasp even the most basic concepts of modern courtship had allowed Serion to sail into Húnil’s arms. 

Like Eledhwen gazing upon Cabed Naeramarth, Morwen recognized defeat. 

She rose, feeling a rush of heat rise with her. She set the glass of liquid fire down on a little table. “I had better go. Thengel will be wondering where we are by now.” 

“I can still accompany you…once I’ve thrown on some fresh clothes,” Húnil told her with only a thread of reluctance in her voice. 

Morwen noticed her friend’s glance toward the door that lead to the hallway that lead to the room where her lover probably had stretched himself out on a sofa in a provocative manner — if the formulas still meant anything in these strange times. 

She hung her head. “There’s no point now.” 

“Are you so sure? Serion can probably spare me for a few hours to chaperone you.” She made an odd face. “In fact, he might need a rest.” 

Morwen winced. “How long has he been here?” 

“Since yesterday when he returned my combs,” Húnil replied, her gaze looking a little vague as if she remembered something pleasant but unsuitable for a library setting.  

Morwen’s mouth popped open but she snapped it shut before Húnil noticed. Since yesterday! No wonder the woman never replied to the letter. Morwen had been thwarted by a set of combs before the day began. 

Húnil rose too. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Thengel by not allowing you to show up. He’s a dear old thing. Ecthelion’s very fond of him. I’ve always wondered why he hasn’t been happily settled before now.” Her eyes twinkled with good humor again. “Now that I’ve met you I can guess the source of the delay.” 

Morwen’s lips pressed into a thin line before she said, “You are mistaken, Lady Húnil. I am not a candidate. And I have the letter to prove it, ” she added hastily when Húnil looked ready to argue the point.  

Her friend blinked. “What letter?” 

“The one where he refused an invitation to visit me,” Morwen explained. 

Húnil smiled knowingly. “People refuse invitations for many reasons, my girl.” 

“Yes,” Morwen grumbled. “In this instance, because he felt his duty in Pelargir outweighed any friendly obligations to me.” 

“Is that what he said?” 

“He implied it,” Morwen insisted. “When asked, he said that the port still needed defending even if I came of age.” 

Húnil snorted. “Oh, my dear, that’s a statement, not a reason. It sounds to me like he wanted to dodge the truth.” 

Morwen blinked. What could Thengel possibly not want to tell her in the middle of a large group of people who weren’t paying them any attention all that much? They’d been friends for ages. He could tell her anything. 

“You can wait here while I change,” Húnil continued. “It’ll only be a moment.” 

Morwen stiffened her spine. “Don’t trouble yourself. In fact, you might want to give some attention to Nahtar. He’s in the garden and I can say from experience that he’s looking for breakfast.” 

Húnil’s mouth popped open. “Escaped again, did he?” she looked Morwen up and down. “You have had adventures this morning.” 

“Yes, and now I intend to go home to avoid any more,” she muttered.  

Rather, she would give Thengel the bad news and then she would go sensibly home. Otherwise, he’d wait at the stables for ages while it slowly dawned on him that he’d been jilted. She’d spend the whole day feeling sorry for him. At least if she told him to his face that Húnil had jilted him then she could also tell him that he only had himself to blame. 

“Are you sure?” Húnil asked. 

“Quite sure. I’m sorry I interrupted your…well, good morning.” 

Morwen let herself out of the library. In a direct revolt against all of her feelings, she proceeded out of the house in a stately manner as if she were participating in the changing of the citadel guard. When she didn’t think anyone from the house would see her, she picked up her skirts and ran.  

Chapter Text

Morwen gave up jogging and walked blindly toward the stables. How it happened that she arrived there without being crushed by a cart or offending numerous people by walking into them, she couldn’t later recall. In fact, she had no memory of how she made it from Húnil’s residence to the stables in one piece. She’d been too abstracted trying to decide how to explain her failure to Thengel and whether or not she should give any credit to anything Húnil had said about his feelings. 

In the end, she decided that Húnil had made an understandable assumption after misinterpreting Thengel’s intimacy with the entire family. Other people undoubtedly treated him with better deference and ceremony, with less real familiarity. Morwen could excuse her new friend for confusing her interactions with Thengel as something more than a common attachment. After all, Morwen in her folly had made the same mistake two years ago. 

The stables looked deserted as Morwen entered its shadows. Anyone with business abroad had already collected their mounts by this time in the morning and the staff had disappeared to enjoy either a late breakfast or an early midday meal and some gossip. So Morwen found Thengel in the tack area with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, saddling her horse by himself. 

Thengel looked relaxed as he worked by rote and murmured endearments to Vanyaroco, who was indeed a good lad. The horse had grown a little harder of hearing over the years and his ears followed the sound of Thengel’s voice rather than picking up on her footfalls. The endless stream of flattery might also have accounted for the keen interest. Vanyaroco’s flea-bitten coat gleamed under Thengel’s care but showed that the gentle-hearted gray had swiftly become an elder statesman in the stables. Morwen had been riding him forever, it seemed, and Thengel knew her palfrey as well as she did. Or perhaps better. 

Thengel seemed content amidst the dust motes and the sunlight filtering through the high windows. Her heart squeezed a little. She had always liked him best just like this. The first time that she knew she loved him in a way that felt different from how she loved Gaeron had been in the horse barn back home in Lossarnach. She’d never told anyone. At the time, she could barely acknowledge it herself. 

Baranroch, Thengel’s mount, had been saddled already and waited in his own crossties. The handsome young bay noticed Morwen first, his ears swiveling in her direction. After making sure to show off his impressive crest to her by means of arching his neck and tossing his mane in a becoming fashion, he then huffed a little as if to complain that her mount had hogged Thengel’s attention long enough. That he wanted her to remedy this posthaste, she had no doubt. He pawed the floor as she approached. Thengel issued a sharp command in Rohirric to check the stallion’s impatient behavior. 

Thengel glanced up as she drew nearer. He smiled and his eyes were warm, the way they had been yesterday when the two of them had talked on his staircase. Then he looked down the passage beyond her, noting the absence of Húnil. Puzzlement replaced the warmth. A hint of something else appeared there too, which reminded her of dancing with him the other night.  

“You’re alone.”  

“Only me,” she answered. 

Morwen gripped the bar of a stall door. Thengel’s light surcoat hung from a nail nearby. She felt sorry to see how much work he’d already put into readying the horses. At least now that she had arrived, she could help him undo it all. 
 
Thengel glanced at her again and then away as if to gauge from her tone and expression just exactly what she meant by arriving on her own.  

“Will Húnil be joining us soon?” he asked as he concentrated on securing a strap. “Morning’s getting on.”

Morwen shook her head, avoiding his gaze when he looked up at her. She cringed inwardly. Some time or other she would have to explain what had occurred within Húnil’s lodgings, but she hoped maybe he wouldn’t inquire too minutely. The beverage Húnil had pressed her to take had worn some of the edge off of the encounter but hadn’t diminished it completely. 

“Ah.” He continued to adjust the girth. Satisfied, he patted Vanyaroco’s neck. “Are you ready to go then?” 

Confusion made Morwen look him in the eye finally. “We’re still keeping the engagement?” 

“Why not?” 

“For what purpose?” Morwen thought she should probably go help Gaeron win back his wife. The thought made her wince. What a foolish mess she’d made of everything for Gaeron and for Thengel. And, well, for herself. Only Serion seemed to have come out on top…literally. 

Thengel wiped his hands on a rag he’d moistened from a water jug before joining her at one of the beams. He cupped her face in his hands. Morwen blinked up at him in surprise. His hands felt warm on her skin. She almost wanted to close her eyes, except then she’d miss the look in his.  

“Morwen, I’m going to tell you…” his head cocked to the side. “Have you been drinking? I smell alcohol.” 

She nodded against his palms. “Húnil gave me something strong. She thought I needed bolstering.” 

“Bolstering for what?” His eyes roved over her. “You’re flushed.” 

“Yes. I’d definitely say that’s from drink and not because you’re pinching my face between your palms in this interesting manner on a warm day.” She tried to swallow. “Is there a reason for this?”  

“Yes,” he answered. “I need you to sharpen your ears for a moment.” 

“Don’t you think they’re already an exaggerated shape without all that?” she asked dryly. 

He squashed a smile before looking her solemnly in the eye. “Listen carefully, please. The only woman I wanted to see today was you. So as far as I’m concerned, the plans haven’t changed except for the better.” 

“But…” She stared at him before frowning suspiciously. “You aren’t even a little sorry about Húnil?”

A corner of his mouth turned upward. “My own one, I have had the advantage of more than a decade-long acquaintance with Húnil, even before she became the cat enthusiast that she is now. While I respect her and understand her to be an excellent steward of Ecthelion’s interests in Lebennin, she is not the lady that I’m seeking.” 

Morwen drooped against him a little. “But she fit the list perfectly,” she murmured dejectedly, nearly forgetting her promise not to resent him for disliking her pick for a wife. 

“Your list,” he pointed out. “Is it possible that I might have one of my own?” 

She gave him a wry look as she squeezed her face out from between his hands. “It either didn’t exist until recently or else it’s so unwieldy that after nearly thirty-seven summers, you still haven’t found a match. Which is it, I wonder?”

“You can pretend to be ignorant if you like,” he remarked as he retrieved his coat to put it back on.  

“Am I’m pretending?” Morwen mumbled. Then she asked, “Have you considered that now you have to start all over again from scratch? I won’t be much help from Imloth Melui unless you want a woodcutter’s daughter.” 

“We never started from scratch.” 

“What do you mean? I didn’t go off a directory of suitable women when I discovered Húnil,” she grumbled. “It required serious investigation at Lady Renneth’s gathering.” 
 
“Serious investigation?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes. Such as squashing onto sofas to ask invasive questions — don’t forget the theft of a dish of goose liver to build rapport. Not to mention the serious ire I’d raised with my mother — and then suffering through my father’s complete abandonment of rational discourse so that the two of you could meet.” 

Add to all that, the effort spent arranging romantic outings that never went according to plan, enduring criticism from her brother, and then having to deliver bad news to her favorite person in the whole world. The thought of all that effort landing in the lap of Serion instead of Thengel nearly made her contemplate strangling both of them. 

“You’ve made a valiant effort, Morwen, which I don’t mean to diminish,” he allowed. “But we’re not working with a blank canvas, as you might say.” 

Morwen crossed her arms. “Are you suggesting that you’ve got someone in mind after all the work I’ve done?” she demanded. 

Thengel paused, turning to her. “Do I still need to spell it out for you?”

Morwen glanced away. “Ah…”

Thengel paced back to her side, leaning one shoulder against the stall wall. She waited to see if he would touch her again, but he didn’t. However, something on the end of her nose seemed to fascinate him, because his eyes lingered down that way. 

“Because you see, I have a theory, Morwen, that you know very well what I mean somewhere in that energetic mind of yours.” He met her gaze again, his eyes like the blue sea glass she had collected on the beaches surrounding Dol Amroth as a girl. Morwen felt swallowed by them. “And that you got a nice woman like Húnil involved to force me to admit it before my time.” 

A smile surprised Morwen before she could squash it. But squash it, she did. Along with the inconvenient ray of hope that managed to work itself free from the dark recess where she’d stashed it for so long. It made no sense to her to feel this way when all of her recent plans for Thengel had come to ruin and after he had rejected her a year ago. 

Morwen held up three fingers as she tamped down the irrational workings of her own heart. “I swear on Galador’s ears that I fully intended to succeed in finding you a wife.” She faltered here. “Only,  I now realize it would never have worked with Húnil.” 

Thengel shook his head and went back to clean up the tack area. “What brought you to that inevitable conclusion?” he asked. 

Morwen followed him a little, then planted herself next to one of the pillars framing the space. Vanyaroco leaned on the crossties to rest his cheek against her breast. She stroked his muzzle and let him snuffle her fingers until he decided he’d investigated her long enough. 

“Well…I had only taken into account what your tastes might be and had forgotten that she might have other ideas…” 

Morwen’s voice faltered again when Thengel’s head tipped backward. She paused, hanging onto scraps of her dignity while he barked with laughter at her expense, the ring of which echoed through the stables. She watched him hug himself until she felt he’d overextended his mirth. 

Morwen crossed her arms. “I don’t see what’s so amusing.” 

“Morwen, you have the self-assurance of a queen,” Thengel chuckled, wiping moisture from his eye. He gave her that same half-exasperated, half-amused look that always crossed his face whenever she drew his portrait in a humorous way. “Did it ever occur to you that people might not march to the beat of your drum simply because you’d decided to bang away at it?”  

Morwen glowered. “I only wanted to help.” 

“A woman like Húnil hasn’t been waiting around for a stripling like you to help her see the light of love,” he pointed out.   

“Shows what you know,” Morwen retorted. “I played a central role in helping her see the light of love as you call it…and if you refer to me as stripling one more time I will brain you with that soft brush.” 

“Fengel will give you a knighthood if you do,” he said, unimpressed by her vehemence.  

Morwen decided to pocket that information for future use. Say, if Thengel continued to be so blunt with her. Or if she decided to give up matchmaking for what looked to be a much simpler vocation: serving Thengel’s father. 

Then Thengel asked, “In what way have you enlightened Húnil?” 

“Well.” She exhaled. “I introduced her to Ar-Pharazôn by accident.” 

Thengel frowned in confusion. “I should hope the man’s still safely dead.” 

“Not the real one, Thengel. His avatar.” Morwen tucked her hair behind her ear, turning away slightly as she confessed the whole. “How was I to know she would prefer Serion over you? It gives one serious doubts about her sense.”  

He flashed her a grin. “Is that what happened?” 

“Yes.” Morwen cupped her forehead with her hand, remembering but trying not to. “I found out this morning when I went to meet her. He got there first and I caught them in a Compromising Position.” 

“Floral arrangements?” he teased. 

“No. Combs,” Morwen answered weakly.

They fell silent for a moment while Thengel absorbed this new information. Morwen felt a little badly about exposing Húnil, but she knew she could count on Thengel not to go around telling tales. And, well, Morwen thought he ought to know the extent of Húnil’s preference for his rival. 

“Combs was it? No wonder you needed bolstering.” Thengel gave her a speculating look. “Will you ever recover?” 

Morwen’s vision went a bit vague as she studied the rafters. Recover? Yes, absolutely. Forget? Not even a little. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at Serion from behind the same way ever again. 

“The encounter proved to be educational,” she philosophized, “and perhaps illustrates that one cannot sit on other people’s furniture.” 

Thengel ducked his head with a snort and accidentally dropped a brush. She thought she heard him mumble something in Rohirric as he stooped to pick it up. 

“So it wasn’t planned?” He picked straw out of the brush bristles and returned it to its spot on the wall. “Even after you pulled your Tathren stunt on her?” 

Morwen pursed her lips. “It’s very unkind of you to remind me of that. I’m surprised you remembered.” 

He glanced at her sideways. “I may have observed it happen.” 

Morwen felt a bolt of something pass through her. “Were you watching me?” 

“I watched Serion watch you,” he admitted. “To prevent further ankle injuries, you see. I figured shoving them together was part of your plan.” 

But Morwen hadn’t orchestrated any of it. The two had collided while she stood by like a fool unable to divert them. No thanks to Thengel for that. 

She made an impatient gesture with her hands. “He wasn’t part of the plan at all. What would pushing them together accomplish?” 

“I thought you wanted to make me jealous.” He waved a comb in the air. “You know, to force me to shrug off this complacency you like to accuse me of.” 

“That was an accident,” she asserted. Then her head tilted to the side as she considered it. “But that idea’s not half bad. I wish I had thought of it.” She squinted at him. “Did it work?” 

“Never mind that, Morwen.” Thengel looked sour. “Intentional or not, your evil genius ran away with you. Again.”

“I’m hardly to blame.” Morwen raised her chin in defiance. “Húnil is an attractive woman with a great deal of spirit. You left her unattended. I suppose Serion couldn’t help succumbing to her allure.” 

“I have fellow feeling with him in that regard,” she heard Thengel mutter. 

Morwen didn’t know how to respond to that. So she said, “But I am surprised that Húnil could entertain him as a lover.” 

 “Why?” 

“His reputation, Thengel. Gaeron calls him the city’s hobby horse.” 

“Did Gaeron know you were within earshot when he made that remark?” Thengel asked knowingly. 

“Of course not.” She exhaled sharply. “He never says anything interesting when he knows I’m around.” 

“Húnil…” Thengel seemed to weigh what he wanted to say next. “…can mimic the exact sound a large predator makes in heat. I’m only surprised the two hadn’t discovered each other sooner.” 

“Oh.” Then Morwen grew thoughtful. “Is that an attractive feature?”

“I — ” Thengel paused. “Well. It works for cats.” 

Morwen tried to follow up with another question but he shooed her out of the way and began to unhook Vanyaroco from the crossties. 

“In your defense, I admit to seriously considering asking Húnil to marry me right then in your mother’s sitting room following her demonstration,” he remarked. 

Morwen stared, beginning to wonder just how well she understood Thengel. “Really?” 

Thengel nodded. “Really. For the way she nearly caused your mother to fall out of her chair.” He chuckled at the memory. “That does take talent.” 

Before Morwen could reflect on Húnil’s many talents, he placed Vanyaroco’s lead in her hand and walked off again. She stared stupidly at the leather. 

“Is something the matter?”  

Morwen shifted in her boots. “Are we still riding out? Without Húnil you’re unattended.” 

“At my time of life that’s little to be wondered,” he drawled. “Don’t you mean that you’re unattended?” 

“I meant to be Húnil’s chaperone,” she explained with all the dignity she felt due to a fully grown woman in such a position. “So in this instance, I am without a protégé not unattended.” 

And she wasn’t alone with him in the tempting seclusion of his house. So. 

“Hm. Do you need a protégé in order to ride out with me?” he countered as he retrieved Baranroch. 

“Well…” 

“Consider this an abduction if that helps.” 

“An abduction?” Did that help? He seemed consumed by a very teasing mood. Perhaps it depended on who was being abducted. Even without the Matter of Pelargir, she found abduction difficult to countenance in a man who looked askance at cutting in on someone else’s dance partners. 

“You said yourself it’s the natural course of things.” 

“A seduction, Thengel,” Morwen corrected. “At a banquet. With men,” she added, gesturing to the world at large.  

“What am I, pray?” he asked, sounding affronted. 

“Besides stubbornly dignified and unfailingly polite?” Morwen stuck her nose in the air. “I couldn’t possibly say.” 

“Are you willing to find out?” he goaded, “Or are you only worried about the Serions of the world having dark designs?” 

Morwen looked Vanyaroco in the eye and felt that her palfrey understood that he also bore witness to this strange mood of Thengel’s. They watched the man collect some heavily laden bags and hook them to Baranroch’s saddle. She wondered what they contained, but Thengel began to lead his destrier past the tack area before she could ask. Morwen watched him pass by looking like a man completely at ease with himself. Too at ease for dark designs. Surely. 

“Well?” he called back. “What do you think?” 

She said in a measured voice, “Won’t there be a scandal?”

“Gaeron’s taken the lead on that front.” He paused at the mouth of the stables. “What’s the worst that could happen if we’re caught riding out together?”

Besides the demolition of a paradigm? Morwen considered. 

“Well…I expect Mother could get Gaeron to persuade you to do the honorable thing…since he’s in town.” 

“I’ll suffer it,” Thengel replied. He touched his chest. “Now, if you feel that’s too much for your sisterly sensibilities to bear, I could put the horses away and walk you home instead.” 

Baranroch’s ears flicked backward, which showed what he thought of that. 

A challenge hung in the air between Morwen and Thengel. She knew he meant it as a challenge. Morwen also knew that Thengel knew that it would goad her into behaving exactly as he wished. It had always worked in the past whenever Gaeron couldn’t get her to budge. Despite that knowledge…she felt the opportunity to change her ways had passed.  

Morwen regarded Thengel, her expression hooded. “I have my hands full with Gaeron. I don’t need another brother.” But before the sudden kindling in Thengel’s eyes could begin to make her question herself, she held up her hands, adding, “As you know, I won’t be galloping madly across the Pelennor with you as Húnil could have. Did you consider that before you let her slip through your fingers?” 

Thengel shrugged. “Fine. We’ll go slowly. That way the whole town can get a good look at us while we abandon decorum.” 

“Something has gotten into you today,” she chided down at her hands while she pleated the lead rope between her fingers.  

“I know,” he replied, making her glance up. The kindling came back into his bright eyes as he grinned at her. “What do you think it is, Morwen?” 

She swallowed, suddenly aware of how he seemed to fill the entryway. “You’re full of carrots,” she told him, borrowing a phrase from every mother in Lossarnach.  

Thengel blinked. “Carrots. That’s a new one for me.” 

Of course, it was. Before today she’d never have applied the phrase to him…though she had often heard it applied to herself as a girl. If Gwereneth accused Morwen of being unsteady, Thengel had always been the picture of steadiness. 

She watched as he rolled the phrase back and forth to himself in Rohirric and Westron. Surprising him with a phrase proved rare these days, but it did happen on occasion. 

“I can’t tell from the context if that’s good or bad.” 

“Neither,” she explained, “it’s just sort of impuls—”
 
“Oh, then keep up, please.” 

Morwen shook her head, feeling like he had taken the floor out from under her as he strode away. She wasn’t used to feeling like this around another person, though she’d been told that she often had a disorienting effect on others. She watched him disappear into the sunlight with Baranroch looking like he had all the assurance that things were going his way rather than being the jilted man that he was. 

If Morwen didn’t know better, she’d think that modern courtship had finally caught on with Thengel. An absurd observation, but she hung back to consider the possibility until Vanyaroco’s ears pointed stiffly in the direction of the stable yard. He seemed to say that the two of them had better follow the stallions’ leads before they grew huffy. 

It was exactly the sort of meek thing a gelding might think, but Morwen suspected it was correct nevertheless. So much for complacency. 

“I’m not accustomed to following another person’s lead,” Morwen confessed to Vanyaroco. She meant to sound imperious, but it came out breathier than she liked.  

Vanyaroco snorted through his nose, which suggested that she had better get used to it. 

Chapter Text

Morwen trailed behind Thengel, leading Vanyaroco through the mouth of the stables into the yard. She blinked in the full sunlight for a moment before Thengel helped her to mount as if he hadn’t been possessed by an impish spirit. 

They made their way down from the sixth circle without seeing anyone Morwen knew, except Aranel and her mother.  Neither young woman spoke to the other in passing but their eyes met. Aranel’s gaze flicked between Morwen and Thengel. 

Not so bad, Morwen thought. Shy women were the soul of discretion. Weren’t they? 

Thengel, however, had his name called out or a morning greeting offered from every other passing pedestrian headed toward the citadel. If they failed to be inconspicuous, Thengel seemed unruffled by it. But Morwen sat up straighter in the saddle to compensate for the sinking feeling in her belly.  

On the fifth circle, Morwen held her breath as they rode past her family’s residence, half expecting Gwereneth to fly out from the door like a bat in hot pursuit. 

“You can breathe again,” Thengel informed her when they passed the gate.  

Morwen exhaled roughly. So he’d noticed? Flouting convention put more of a strain on her nerves than she reckoned it would. She nearly began to take a dim view of herself. 

Thengel cleared his throat. She looked over and met his appraising gaze. The impulsive spirit that seemed to light him up in the stables began to fade. 

“We could turn around and take you home.” 

That kindled Morwen’s spirit. She refused to disappoint him and she refused to be cowed. So Morwen stared ahead, her expression stony. “If you do I will add it to the list of things I refuse to forgive you for.” 

Thengel considered this. “Is it a long list?” 

“It may be growing.” 

His brow rose. “You promised to have no hard feelings if I didn’t like your choice,” he reminded her, referring to their pact.  

“That isn’t it.” Then unable to fully articulate what ‘it’ was, she asked, “What’s in the bags? It looks like you could ride to Pelargir with enough provisions.” 

He glanced a little guiltily at the bags. “I didn’t know what you had planned for today, so I told Cook to pull something together. She has a morbid fear of people starving to death on her watch.” 

Morwen appreciated that he took some initiative, even if the outing had failed. “Other than leaving the city, I had only planned to lose you both somewhere while I hid out in a barn.”

Thengel scratched his chin, frowning slightly. “For what purpose?” 

Morwen waited for an interested pedestrian to realize that he’d missed his home gate. Then she said, “To leave the two of you to sort yourselves out.” 

“Sort out what?” 

“You know. So you could,” Morwen scanned her memory for a phrase her mother would approve of, “be demonstrative.” 

He winced up at the circle gate ahead of them. 

“There’s no need to make faces,” she scolded. “I thought if I could get the two of you out of my mother’s sitting room then there might be a spark.” 

Thengel maneuvered Baranroch closer to Vanyaroco when the increasing squash of traffic threatened to part them. He checked the bay to keep him from nipping at Morwen’s horse. 

“It’s a logical maneuver,” he conceded. 

“I thought so.” 

“Just stupidly applied,” he added. 

Thengel sounded just like Gaeron had the night before, which did nothing to improve her mood. Morwen upbraided Thengel with her eyes, annoyed once again by his frankness. 

“What would it take for the Lord of the Mark to make me a marshal?” She’d need a larger brush, for one thing. 

Thengel grinned at her. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“I wouldn’t announce that so baldly while we’re riding close enough for me to reach you with my boot, horse-master.” 

Instead of taking her warning in the proper light, Thengel winked at her. 

“Carrots,” she mumbled to herself as she glanced sharply away. 

“You will consider, however,” Thengel droned as he nodded at the gatekeepers, “that a certain level of comfort on horseback might be necessary to become a marshal of the Mark.” 

Morwen waited until they passed through the tunnel and its interesting acoustics before responding, “Since you haven’t shared with me through what violence that rank may be obtained, I don’t think I’ll trouble myself.” 

“Just as well,” Thengel replied. “You’d put Fengel King out of his reckoning.”  

Morwen grinned wolfishly. “A good thing, wouldn’t you think?”  

“I…huh.” Thengel considered it, pursing his lips. Then he looked at her sidelong. “Where were you twenty years ago when I needed him put out of his reckoning?” 

“Learning how to walk.”  

Thengel sighed. 

They proceeded slowly through the city. Morwen hadn’t accounted for market days when she set the date for their outing. Merchants and vendors from outside of Minas Tirith had increased the traffic, not to mention those who wanted to purchase their wares. As Thengel had said, everyone truly would get a good look at them while they abandoned decorum. 

Speculative glances were thrown their way, especially since her companion’s looks stood in high contrast to nearly everyone in the country. Without being the son of a foreign king, it did not help that Thengel’s exploits as Ecthelion’s right-hand man had given him a fair amount of fame. Several times, the watchmen posted at the tunnel gates greeted Thengel and exchanged pleasantries in a manner that suggested a long acquaintance. But Morwen received sidelong glances. She wondered how long it would take before the rumors landed in the ear of her mother. 

She forgot to worry about that once they left the black City Gates behind them and took the road down into the tilled green fields that rippled out from the foot of Mindolluin toward the river. A country girl at heart, Morwen felt her breast expand more freely with each breath than it had within the stone city confines. Her native confidence began to return. 

Thengel also seemed to relax as the traffic on the road thinned and they found themselves almost alone along the stretches of grazing livestock, granaries, and the cold kilns that would be used in a few months to dry the harvest of hops and malt. Alarm threaded through Morwen when she noticed Baranroch take advantage of Thengel’s ease. As the stallion picked up speed, Vanyaroco increased his pace to keep up as best he could. She made a poor horsewoman beyond a canter and the kind of explosive speed packed by a destrier terrified her. 

During her childhood, Gaeron had thought it would be entertaining to let her ride his new courser, which he had received as a newly minted man-at-arms under Ecthelion. He’d barely managed to fit the first stirrup for her when it bolted. Gaeron managed to get ahold of the stallion soon after, but not before she’d been bounced into a stupor. She had never quite gotten over the experience no matter how many times she climbed back into the saddle afterward. 

Before she could grow truly alarmed, Thengel checked Baranroch and waited for her to catch up. He knew the story. 

“No fear. Nobody’s running off with you today,” he assured her once she was alongside him again.  

“Even though you packed for a long journey?” she quipped to mask her nerves. 

He smiled at her. “There’s no point in scaring you witless beforehand if it does turn into an abduction.” 

That made her laugh. “No fear, indeed.”

“No?” he asked. “Why not?” 

Morwen stared down her nose at him. The man may have upset her footing in the stables, but out here in the open air, she had command of herself again. “It’s difficult to countenance an abduction from a man who looks askance at cutting in on other people’s dance partners.” 

“Consider, Morwen, that I felt content with the partner I already had,” he replied. “Perhaps you’re in more danger than you realize.” 

Morwen stifled a snort. “You’re a fine fellow, Thengel. Polite and steady to a fault. I’m safer out here with you than with Gaeron.” Especially where it involved horses. 

“Hm.”  

Then she pointed. “Let’s take that charming little bridge over the brook. It looks thinner of farmhouses that way.” 

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asked. They had veered north. 

“No, but I’d prefer to keep Osgiliath out of my sight. It’s too depressing even if all I can make out is an uneven smudge.” 

They stopped in a shaded, out-of-the-way place where a stream cut between meadows and formed a little pool before going on its way again to feed the Anduin. Willows rested heavy, ancient arms on the ground along its banks and let their hair float dreamily in the breeze. Some ducks paddled around in the water, sometimes tipping their tail feathers up in pursuit of tasty morsels beneath the pool’s surface. 

Morwen breathed in the fresh air, delighting in the play of light and wind over the water. It reminded her of home in Imloth Melui. With a pang, she realized that tomorrow she would return to Lossarnach with her parents, leaving all of this and Thengel behind. She snuck a glance at him unawares while he staked the horses and messed with the saddlebags instead of doing something important like sighing over the willows. 

Thengel glanced at her from over the saddle and caught her looking at him. She blinked in confusion, but he seemed not to notice. He held up the bag of provisions. “Take this, please.” 

Morwen gladly accepted the bag while he retrieved a blanket from the other. “How nice,” she said, peeking inside and snatching out a strawberry to inspect it. “Húnil is missing out.” 

“Not from what you’ve described.” 

Morwen winced. “She’s taking a risk with Serion, isn’t she?” 

“Húnil has the resources to afford a risk,” he opined while he attended to the horses. “But who can say? Perhaps she’ll turn Serion into an honest man.” 

Morwen considered the possibility while she rolled the berry between her fingers. It seemed like a paradigm shift too far. By all accounts, Serion had carefully cultivated his blackened character over half a decade. Wasting all that effort might put him into a crisis. 

“Is that possible?” Morwen asked.  She wasn’t sure how seriously to take Thengel today. Pure carrots, that man.

“She could always threaten to feed him to her cats if he doesn’t reform.” 

 Morwen’s mouth dropped open as Thengel’s joke reminded her of the very real threat posed by the cats. “Húnil’s footman almost fed me to Nahtar this morning. Given Húnil’s…eh…preoccupation, I doubt anyone would have discovered it yet.” 

Thengel stared at her for a long moment. Then a dark cloud passed over his expression. He growled, “Morwen, are you serious?” 

She nodded. “The cat cornered me in her garden after the footman left me there. I don’t think the young man knew that Nahtar had gotten loose.”

At least, she chose to give him and his mistress the benefit of the doubt. Surely offering pushy visitors as prey to Nahtar hadn’t been a direct order. 

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Thengel circled Baranroch, reaching for Morwen. He gripped her shoulders, searching her over for injury. Baranroch’s ears pinned back and he pulled on his picket line. “Were you hurt?”

“I forgot before now — I’m fine!” she added quickly when Thengel looked ready to hunt down Nahtar right then and there. “Catching Húnil and Serion together afterward drove it from my mind.” 

“Húnil has no business keeping those animals within the city walls. What possessed Ecthelion to let her travel here with them?” Thengel ranted as he released her shoulders. “There should be an ordinance. I’ll speak to the Keeper of the Keys.”

Morwen regretted telling Thengel about her misadventure. She didn’t think he’d start breathing fire like that dragon from the north. She gripped his coat to check him. 

“Please don’t. Nahtar only stalked me and hissed a bit.” Morwen omitted the part where the cat had leaped at her and then chased her into the house. She held out her arms between them as best she could with the bag dangling from one of them. “See? No scratches or bites. There’s no need to antagonize Húnil over nothing.”  

Thengel’s eyes flashed angrily. “Nothing? It’s one thing for Húnil to be careless of herself, but you could have been hurt.” 

“You must admit it’s partially my fault for involving her.” Morwen looked at her feet, remembering how the footman had tried to warn her against entering the house, but she’d broken past him with the subtlety of a fire ship. “You might say I walked into it myself.” 

“Oh certainly, I know exactly how to share out the blame,” Thengel answered tartly. Then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Morwen?”   

“Yes, Thengel?” 

When he looked at her, his eyes had the aspect of ice chips. “Promise me, please, that from now on you’ll curb your evil genius before it kills you. I’d be so grateful.” 

Morwen held up three fingers. “I promise to be guided by the better spirits of my nature…if I have any.” She squinted at him while he took on the aspect of a lemon. “You must admit that I might not or I’d be more attentive to household duties.”

“That’s not it. You simply need to get out from under your mother,” he muttered as he went to fix Baranroch’s picket. 

Morwen took that to mean that he’d accepted her promise. And she had gotten out from under her mother, which made her wonder if she had behaved any better than Húnil by riding out into an open meadow with Thengel. 

“By the way, what does a woman who hasn’t got enormous desert cats do to defend her honor?” she asked. 

Thengel glanced southward and Morwen followed his line of sight toward the white glimmer of the city walls in the background of the green terraces. She probably should have asked these questions before leaving the city with him. 

“I know a woman who has some for sale,” he answered dryly, turning back to her with a martyred expression on his face. 

That surprised Morwen into a laugh. She had to quickly cover her mouth because Thengel didn’t yet seem amenable to levity at the moment. “Are you going to forgive me for that? I meant to warn you. It’s the pretext I gave Húnil to dine with us.” 

Thengel shook his head. “You’ll have to pay penance.” 

“How?” 

“By promising,” he began, holding up three fingers, “to never let Húnil’s name trouble my ears again for the rest of the day.” 

Morwen pressed her lips together, holding up her fingers. 

He gave her an approving nod. “Very good. Now, please set the bag down somewhere that isn’t on an ant hill or a puddle, and help me spread this blanket.” 

They found a suitably dry spot on the bank under the shade and laid out the blanket while mindful of the bees that drifted around, also determined to enjoy the willows. Then Morwen presided over the sharing out of the food and utensils. Thengel had procured a good spread from his kitchen. She liked his housekeeper and decided that she approved of the cook, as well. 

She found a handy wooden box with a sliding lid that contained little bacon and chard pies the scent of which made Morwen’s mouth water. Wrapped in waxed cloths, she uncovered small flatbreads and soft cheese. A pot of some spicy-sweet fruit spread lay at the bottom of the bag. She removed the cork lid to inspect it and tried to pick out all of the spices she could smell. Then there were dried apricots as well as the first strawberries of the season. A pouch contained roasted almonds. Lastly, she found another box of little orange cakes at the bottom where the spiced fruit jar had been. 

Morwen nearly told Thengel how glad she felt that they wouldn’t have to share any of this with Húnil, but she remembered her penance in the nick of time. She opened the second bag and found carefully wrapped plates, glasses, and a bottle of wine. 

“Should we set out the third table setting in case someone wanders by?” she asked. 

Thengel gave her a look that suggested he would brook no such suggestion. 

“Aren’t the Rohirrim famous for their hospitality to strangers?” she pressed, handing him a plate. 

“Yes. For total strangers, we provide them with a special escort of spears to the border of our lands.” 

She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and then stared at him. 

“For strangers who can be vouched for by someone who isn’t himself a stranger, we give them a place to sleep, a hot meal, and a healthy dose of suspicion. And then an escort to the border of our lands.” 

“With spears?” 

“Riders don’t leave home without them.” 

Morwen slipped the extra setting back into the bag. “Without company, there’s enough food here to keep us fed for several days,” she reflected. “If we decide to camp, for example.” 

“I’m considering the possibility,” he said as he selected a pie.  

“Too bad it’s our last day in town.” She glanced at him as she handed over the wine to be opened. “My parents would not be amused if I didn’t turn up in time to finish packing. Mother’s been trying to drag me back to it for several days now.” 

“You could keep Gaeron company,” he mused after he removed the cork. “Hand me your glass.” 

“Oh, yes, I could stay for Gaeron’s sake. Poor, misguided lamb.” She accepted the filled glass. “Thank you.” 

“It could take time for Tathren to come around.” 

Morwen sipped her wine before setting it aside. It tasted almost as nice as the Steward’s, which she decided could be dangerous for her faculties just as it had at the reception. 

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed. “Days and days. Dried fruit or fresh?” 

“Fresh.” 

Morwen handed him the strawberries along with the almonds. “You’d better have these too.” 

“What are you doing?” he asked as she ignored all the other food and instead chose an orange cake for herself. “That’s dessert.” 

Morwen made a face at him. “I’m a grown woman, which you don’t seem to have absorbed.” Thengel started to protest, but she talked over him. “If I wish to start with dessert, then I shall…especially when my mother isn’t around to stop me.” 

Never mind that she’d missed breakfast in her hurry. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, inspecting the cake. “They smell wonderful. Just like an orangery.” 

“They’re the reason Cook got the job,” Thengel told her. “She brought samples.” 

“I approve,” she mumbled with her mouth only somewhat full. “Is that cardamom? I would eat this cake constantly if I lived in your household.” 

Thengel studiously inspected an almond before eating it. “Hm.” 

She squinted at him. “It’s a wonder you’re so lean.” 

“The trick is to live elsewhere most of the time.” He bit into a pie, brushing crumbs from his chest. “Also, beating up corsairs between meals keeps the figure trim.” 

Morwen swallowed, hearing the implication. “You’re going back to Pelargir.” 

Thengel paused. “No. I have business here that I can no longer put off.” He threw a piece of fallen crust to the ducks, causing a minor explosion in the pool. 

“What business?” 

Thengel looked at her like he thought she chose to act stupid. “The business of persuading the most obtuse woman of my acquaintance to agree to ride out with me unattended.” 

“Hm,” she echoed. Having finished one of the cakes, Morwen set the box down on her lap and then took her time selecting a piece of bread. “What a silly plan.”

“You think so?” 

“Yes. As if you know any obtuse women. Even with all my powers, the only one I could find to agree to ride out with you, well,” Morwen drawled, “She reneged at the last minute to tuck up with someone else.”

“You don’t count, I suppose.” 

Morwen squared her jaw, then said, “I understand you perfectly, which means I’m not obtuse enough to be an object for you.” 

“Morwen — ”

“Have you tasted this bread with the cheese?” she interrupted. ”It’s very refreshing with the spiced jam. Allow me to make you some.” 

“Thank you,” he sighed.  

She tried to hand him the dried fruit first. “You’d better have some apricots, too. They’re good for your digestion.” 

He regarded her through slitted eyes. 

Morwen blinked at him. “Don’t you like apricots? Your cook provided them.” 

“I have perfect digestion,” he insisted as he accepted the bread from her and refused the dried fruit. He finished it in one bite and seemed hardly to taste it. 

Morwen shrugged as she watched him eat. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen you in well over a year and they say that after thirty—” 

“Two years and seven days.” 

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, adding unhappily, “Who’s counting?” 

“Me. You see, seven days ago...” 

Morwen almost drooped. “I know. I promised to find you a wife and I’ve failed. Stars and sea kings, I haven’t earned cake.” 

Never mind that she’d already helped herself to one. Morwen put the box down between them. Thengel’s fingers brushed her wrist before she could move away. She inhaled but her body didn’t seem to know what to do with the breath so she held it. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he explained, still touching her. “I last saw you shortly after your nineteenth birthday. Then Gaeron’s wedding marked a year and a day since you were presented at twenty.” 

Morwen felt her stomach turn a little sour. She tucked her arm against her side and he withdrew his hand. 

“What’s the significance of that?” she asked. Besides a reminder of past mortification. 

“It means fair game,” was all he said as he squinted up at the sky where some clouds were blowing in from the east.  

“Fair game for what?” she asked again as she observed him. He didn’t seem to hear her. To clear his abstraction, she added, “Cloud gazing or seducing me?” 

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped to her face. “I have far too much respect for your honor. You’ll have to live with the appearance of seduction.” 

Morwen shook her head and scoffed. “I had begun to seriously believe back in the stables that you’d acclimated to modern courtship. Too hastily, as it happens.” 

“I’ve been a poor pupil.” He threw more crust to the ducks. “But now that you understand that I’ll never be a lover of Serion’s caliber, will you at least allow me to court you in a calm and sensible manner?” 

Morwen felt her stomach turn over as her eyes snapped open. Carrots! She swallowed against something in her throat, and asked as lightly as possible, “Do you wish to?” 

“I have been planning to put the question to you for two years.”  

Morwen stretched her legs out in front of her, staring at her boots. Did he mean the two years he’d spent running away from her? He’s given the corsairs the benefit of his time and left her with nothing. The thought made her climb to her feet. 

Looking down at him, she said gravely, “Thengel, I believe you are telling a falsehood.” 

“The men of the Mark do not tell falsehoods,” he said, gazing up at her. “Where are you going?” 

“For a walk if you’re going to sit there in broad daylight on a picnic blanket and say ridiculous things.” 

He rose to his feet and stood beside her in a moment. “Is wanting to court you ridiculous?” 

“Of course not. I’m a good catch,” she replied. “But expecting me to believe that you want to court me defies expectation.” 

“Suppose I tell you it’s true. Have you known me to be a liar?” 

“Never,” she replied. So there must be other reasons. “Explain your motivation.” 

“I love you. Why else?” 

Morwen blinked. She noticed, looking down, that one of her bootlaces looked a little frayed…if she stared at it and not at anything else around her.

It seemed highly unlikely, she reflected, that Húnil could be right about Thengel in the face of his preference for pirates, not to mention the letter. Had his grasp of the Common Speech failed him? Maybe he didn’t know what that word meant. 

“How would you say that in Sindarin?” she asked, glancing up briefly. 

He looked puzzled, but said, “Nin emel gwaloth an cin.” 

My heart opens for you. 

“Oh.” Stars and ships and sea kings. She added some islands to the oath for good measure. 

When she didn’t respond for a while, Thengel tapped the side of her boot with his, since her eyes seemed to be glued down there. “Still with me?” 

No. She didn’t happen to know up from down at the moment. And she didn’t know what to do. So she started walking blindly along the stream. She could feel him following close behind her. 

“Well?” he asked. 

Well. The thought of believing him and being fooled felt like too much. She usually wore playfulness like a shield and found herself seeking refuge there now. 

“I’m in shock,” she quipped as he walked alongside her. “Stars and ships. I suppose it would be something to be courted by a man with a new bathtub.” 

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Consider it yours but only until Fengel dies. Then it’s basins and rivers and steam baths.” 

Morwen’s eyes rolled upward toward the clouds. “Love really is for better or for worse with you.” 

“It is,” he agreed. “Do you think you could bear it? You’ve paid close attention to what my wife would have to put up with.” 

Yes, Morwen had. “And this whole time you thought the likely candidate would be me?”  

“I had hopes in that direction, yes.”

Morwen frowned deeply at the inconsistency of that statement with his behavior. “But then why on Middle-earth would you allow me to become your matchmaker?” 

“For one thing, you begged me to — with your mother as a witness,” he reminded her. “I admit to feeling curious if you would come to the correct conclusion on your own.” 

Morwen beat her fist into the palm of her other hand. “And to think I felt willing for a few seconds to ride — on horseback — all the way to Rohan to find you a wife not knowing that the game was rigged the whole time. That is unsporting.” 

“You would have been successful,” he remarked. “Only you would have found her more expediently by staying put.” 

Morwen did not feel satisfied with Thengel’s answers. If he wanted to tease her, then it seemed to be going too far. She ought to have gone sensibly home instead of riding out with him and this was her punishment. 

“You don’t seem convinced,” he said. 

“I’m not,” Morwen acknowledged. He kept saying words — words she had longed for him to say — but they seemed to ping off of her instead of sink in. Her mind simply couldn’t absorb them. She stopped Thengel next to an old willow that had uprooted and fallen into the stream after the recent rain. “Thengel, are you being serious? You are in a strange mood.” 

“Completely serious. Though to be honest, I can’t tell if I want to lecture you or kiss you more.” 

Morwen blushed but didn’t take the bait. “Why lecture?” 

Thengel crossed his arms. “Because of the rumpus you created this week out of sheer obtuseness.” 

Morwen found that unfair. “I acted in good faith. You allowed me to set an impossible task. Had I known how you felt I would not have wasted anyone’s time.” She glanced away. “Much.” 

He rubbed his jaw, looking puzzled. “You really didn’t suspect how I felt? Not once? After all this time?” 

“Well, I didn’t think….”  

He sliced the air with his hand. “Morwen, I’ve turned my house upside down for you.” 

Morwen felt alternately hot and cold, torn between belief and skepticism. She had been teasing and flippant until now. But the playfulness fell away as emotions she’d experienced during the last year came to a head. She thought with a pang of the lady’s room that faced Lossarnach. It was exactly the sort of thoughtful touch she’d expect from Thengel toward someone he cared for. That he had meant it for her…

She stared ahead without seeing anything. “You’re telling me the truth?” 

“In Westron and Sindarin, as it happens,” he confirmed dryly. “I’d say it in Rohirric too if I thought you would understand. Do you think I’d get you away from your mother like this just so that we could discuss apricots?” 

Morwen’s eyes flashed like silver in the sun. “How could I know the answer to that?” she cried. “You never said anything before now, not even when I gave you the opportunity to admit it.”

“I couldn’t. Not before you came of age.” 

“Thengel, I’ve been of age for a year now. How long have you felt this way?” And did that match with what she had once believed before the letter? 

Thengel tugged at a willow frond, preferring to look at it while he peeled off the delicate leaves with his thumbnail. “I’m not sure as it happened gradually…about two or three years. I used to look forward to my visits to Lossarnach in the summer and the times when your family would return to Minas Tirith in the fall. It took some time before I realized that while I used to anticipate meeting Gaeron again, at some point I began to think only of you. When the truth came home to me, I didn’t know what to do. Especially when I began to suspect that you knew how I felt and returned those feelings.” He dropped the willow frond and turned to her. “Morwen, surely my manner at times…” 

“Oh, there were moments when I thought maybe,” she admitted…except for the part where maybe really meant absolutely. “Snatches of conversation or an expression…” 

She’d loved him for four years, as far as she could tell. At sixteen, she couldn’t admit to anyone that she had fallen for a man of thirty-two and the consolation had been that he felt no such feelings for her — until later when the expression in his eyes told her that everything had changed. 

The first moment she thought she could identify a shift in his feelings had occurred while drawing his portrait. She’d lost count of how many times she’d done so and could have drawn him with her eyes closed…until that moment. His expression, especially his eyes, contained something in their depths that she could only describe as…hers. Later, she had compared her other sketches in the privacy of her room and had discovered that her senses had not been mistaken. Words didn’t describe his expression adequately, but she had felt loved. 

Morwen had taken to drawing caricatures instead of true portraits after that in order to hide her confusion, and because time and age were still not on their side. But by that time they had only a year to wait for her to come of age. She could be patient. 

And she had never felt so grateful for that patience until she received his letter, which revealed all the folly she would have been in for if she had ever discussed her feelings openly with Thengel beforehand. It was the folly, she had realized, of a very young woman who needed little evidence to believe that someone felt more for her than encouragement and reason allowed.  For all she knew, he had been daydreaming about another woman while she’d drawn him.  

“When the moment came when you could finally act, you went away and you stayed away — even when I especially invited you to come to me last year,” she explained. “How could I interpret that as regard?” 

Thengel stared at her, dumbfounded. “I stayed away because of how I felt,” he answered. “What else could I do before you came of age?”

“Nothing, I know,” she told him earnestly. “And so for these past few years I never once teased you or pushed you — which you know is pure torture for someone like me. I’ve behaved so well that not even my mother can complain about my conduct. Gaeron believes I’ve gotten over carrying a ‘silly torch’ as he called it. And then you went to hide out in Pelargir. I figured that I’d misread everything, persuaded by my own silly fancies.” She had to pause and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands. “When I stole your reply from Father’s desk a year ago I felt like a complete fool.”  

Morwen had to bite her cheek to keep her composure now that she’d said the thing out loud that had weighed so heavily on her since last spring. Thengel’s hand hovered between them as if he wanted to reach for her again but wasn’t sure how she would receive his touch. Morwen’s fingers twitched to reach out too but she squeezed her hands together instead. 

“How could you interpret that as a lack of feeling toward you when you knew our situation?” he asked softly. 

Morwen shook her head. “How else could I explain why you’d refuse to attend my presentation last year and come forward as a suitor when you finally had the chance?” She raised her chin. “Since then I’ve been determined to behave with you as I always did, like Gaeron’s little sister.” 

And she’d made sure to burn the portrait. 

Thengel shook his head. “But that’s not it at all.” 

“Explain, then.” 

“Morwen, you’ve spent so much of your life tucked under your mother’s wing in Lossarnach. I wanted to give you a chance to meet other men first before throwing your lot in with me,” he admitted. “And after that time, if you didn’t meet anyone you liked, then I could take my chance with a clear conscience.” 

Morwen made a strangled sound in her throat as the implications of such a plan flooded her mind and stirred up her emotions all over again. “So you avoided me for another year?” 
 
“A year and a day,” he corrected. “That seemed like a fair amount of time.” 

“A year is a very long time! Too long.” 

“Not to me, it isn’t,” he sighed. “Something’s stirring up trouble in the south, emboldening adventurers and warlords alike to test Gondor’s bounds. It’s been nothing but sword-work for months. The time went by so fast that I didn’t begin preparations for the house in time.”

“It’s a wonder you got away,” she said bitterly, unable to forget what he’d said to her at the reception. 

Thengel gave her a look that said plainly that he could read her thoughts. “As luck would have it, your brother created an opportunity by setting the date of his wedding on the day I could finally allow myself to step forward.” 

Morwen stepped up to him, gripping his arm. She wanted to see the look in his eyes when she asked her next question. He watched her silently, waiting. 

“What if I had met someone tolerable all the while thinking you didn’t care about me? I might have accepted him. Why on Middle-earth would you allow that to possibly happen?” 

“I considered that possibility,” he said solemnly. “Fortunately for me, Serion’s fickle.” 

Morwen scoffed. “I never meant Serion.” 

Thengel’s eyebrow rose. “You didn’t appear to be tortured when you flirted with him.” 

“Well. I am a flesh and blood woman like anyone else.” She raised her chin and said loftily, “I’m not spoken for so I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy flirting with him when I have the chance.” 

“It sounds like he’s spoken for now,” Thengel muttered. 

Morwen winced. “You may be right.” 

“In all seriousness, Morwen,” he began as he reached out for a strand of her hair, rolling it gently between his fingers. “A life with me is a weighty matter for anyone, let alone for a young woman with so many opportunities still before her.” 

“Not to me, it isn’t,” she argued. “I’d go to Umbar with you if you’d only ask.” 

“I’m pleased to hear it. But it’s only fair to give you the chance to choose otherwise.”

“Fair!” Her eyes flashed dangerously as she pressed a finger to his chest. “I see why you’ve never married before now. How many women have slipped through your fingers this way? You are a very confusing, irritatingly gallant lover.” 

He regarded her through sober eyes. “I am a lover who is a good deal older than his beloved, and quite a bit ahead of her in realizing his feelings.” Morwen refrained from correcting him. “My conscience won’t accuse me of leading you.”

“You’re safe from any accusations on that score,” she grumbled. “A little suggestion might have helped last year.” 

“Be fair. You had as many hints as my courage and propriety would allow beforehand.” 
 
“You disappeared at the exact moment when you could actually pursue me without scandalizing the country. That’s the only hint I understood,” she told him, waving at the city walls. “It said as plain as plain that you couldn’t be bothered with your friend’s little sister and that my senses could not be trusted. I have clung to that letter through every confusing thing you have said and done this week which might cause me to make the same mistake all over again.” 

Thengel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s not what my letter meant at all.” 

“Then why haven’t you said a word about how you feel during these last two weeks when we’ve finally been together for the wedding?”  

“Because the year and a day didn’t end until the wedding.” Thengel made an exasperated gesture with his hand. “I tried to sound you out during Gaeron’s wedding night when I knew for certain that the year had passed and you had no known suitors. But how could I be explicit once you started talking about your sisterly affection for me and your burning need to find me a wife?”

Morwen flushed as he recited her actions back to her. “I wanted to protect myself. If you didn’t love me the way I loved you then I could at least be useful to you in a way that would be useful to me.”

Thengel’s expression went vague as he tried to follow her logic. “How could you find that useful?” 

“By putting to bed any possibility that you might love me back one day…so I could move on.” 

His eyes roved over her face. “And that’s your hair-raising idea? Shoving some poor woman at me while it broke your heart to do it?” 

“Well, yes.” She raised her chin a little higher. “I’m pragmatic…like my mother.” 

“Morwen.” 

“Can’t you see that I’d still have some connection to you if I could find you a woman I didn’t loathe?” Then she exhaled sharply. “Can you honestly say it’s a worse idea than yours?”  

“Your approach had the subtlety of a charging mûmak. At least I didn’t catapult a battery of eligible men at you.” 

“You’ve never seen mûmakil,” she countered. “And it was only one woman…I couldn’t find anyone else who fit the list.” 

“Regardless, mûmakil don’t hold a candle to you once you’ve set your evil genius in order,” Thengel pronounced. “The fruit of your plan led me to think that I’d gotten too far ahead of you.”

Morwen watched him rub either weariness or frustration out of his eyes. Then she looked behind her at the ducks, wondering what they thought of all this silly human melodrama. Not much, judging by the show of tail feathers. 

“Do you take criticism?” she asked, turning back to Thengel. 

“Only after meals.” 

“Fortunately you’ve had one,” she said stoutly. “My hair-raising idea, as you like to call it, is a direct result of your overbearing conscience.” 

He stepped closer to her and touched her cheek. “But Morwen, what would you have done in my place?” 

“Scandalize the world and let them deal with it,” she declared while trying to ignore the warmth of his touch. “I can’t see how the two of us are responsible for other people’s feelings. I love you and I don’t care what anyone thinks.” 

Thengel’s cheek tremored. It was the first time she’d admitted it to him in words. He swallowed and said, “But remember I still didn’t know exactly how you felt. I only suspected.” 

Morwen gripped his tunic. “How could you have doubted me when I stole my father’s stationery to write and practically beg you to come to me?” she argued. 

“That’s what I thought until I met you that evening when you went on about marrying me off to — I have to say — a very odd-sounding woman.” 

Morwen could think of no way to minimize the blame on herself in that particular instance, so she avoided it entirely by saying, “And another thing. What makes you so sure we’re living in Minas Tirith?” 

Thengel blinked at the swerve in topic. “That’s where I keep my house.” 

“I’ll agree to live in the city from the start of Hithui through Gwaeron. Once the mud dries up you’re to bring me back to Lossarnach for Tuilérë.” 

“Where will we live?” 

“You can negotiate that with Father. Maybe he’ll lend us a shed.” She held up a finger. “But those are my terms until the Rohirrim call you back.”

Thengel crossed his arms. “You are not living in a shed. The new tub won’t fit.” He closed his eyes, thinking before he said, “I’ll see what I can find — in Arnach.” She opened her mouth to argue. He held up his finger, mirroring her. “I am not living less than a half day’s ride from your parents. Those are my terms. That is if you don’t run for the hills at the prospect of leaving Gondor with me,” he replied. “Now’s your chance, Morwen.” 

“Is that what the saddlebags are really for then? My escape?” 

He looked at her self-consciously. “I’d hate for you to go hungry on the way.” 

Morwen planted her feet. “Now who’s obtuse? If there’s any running away to be done, it will be the two of us together — to the glee of every gossip in the country.” 

Both parties considered the words that they had spoken. Slowly, the sounds of nature and civilization came back into focus. A curious bee hovered near Morwen’s arm, which she knew better than to shoo away. Somewhere, the tramp of many horse hooves on a distant lane could be heard, which she deemed to be a patrol traveling to relieve their comrades on the northern border. 

Or potentially a search party sent by her mother. 

After a reasonable silence, Thengel observed, “It seems to me that we’ve skipped from the possibility of courtship right into something more permanent.” 

“Well, we have to as a matter of necessity,” she said primly, taking his hand and leading him back toward the picnic blanket and their horses.  

“Why’s that?” 

“Because my mother will insist once she sees the grass stains on my dress.” 

He glanced at her skirts. “What stains?” 

Morwen sat down on the blanket, waiting for him to join her. He sat down facing her. Then she reached across his lap, planting her hand on the other side of his hip. Her nose almost brushed his. She looked up into his clear blue eyes. “Do you think you could figure it out from here or do you still need lessons on modern courtship?” 

Thengel gripped her chin with his fingers as he leaned toward her. “Are there any other misunderstandings we need to clear up first?” 

Morwen glanced away so she could think. “I don’t believe so.” 

“You understand that if you marry me our lives will be very different one day?” 

She skimmed his nose with her own. “I do, yes.” 

He gripped her arms, holding her back a little so she had to look him in the eye. “And I’ll be a king so you will have to treat me with a modicum of respect when you draw my picture.” 

Morwen pursed her lips. “Hm.” 

“Just so we understand one another,” he drawled.  

Morwen began to scoot away. “It’s like you want me to run.” 

The shine came back in his eyes as he pulled her onto his lap, encasing her in his arms. “No fear. I have a fast horse.”  

“That’s just as well,” she quipped though her heart had lodged in her throat now that Thengel didn’t seem to be holding back. “You’ll need him to keep up with me, old man.” 

She felt his laughter deep in his chest. “You dare.”  

Morwen nodded, batting her eyelashes. She enjoyed feeling pinned against him like this, never wanting him to let go. She felt caught like one of his corsairs, only she assumed much more enjoyable. “It’s only fair. I wouldn’t want you to grow winded.” 

He skimmed his thumb along her throat making her shiver as he cupped her cheek. “One of these days you will find out just how young I still am.” 

She gave him a rosy grin. “I hope so.”

Morwen tingled with excitement as he captured her mouth. His hands smoothed down her sides and around to her lower back to press her closer still. She began to feel repaid for the year of misery caused by the misunderstanding of last spring and the years of dancing around one another before that. 

Chapter Text

Morwen sighed in complaint as the kiss ended and Thengel rested his forehead against hers. They sat in that fashion for a while. Quiet. Breathing. She liked being so close to him but it wasn’t as nice as being kissed. Slowly, she became aware once more of the breeze stirring her hair. The subtle swish of willows. The curiosity of bees. The chatter of ducks. The subtle song of the stream. She felt Thengel’s chest rise and fall and as much as she wanted to be awake for every moment the rhythm threatened to make her doze off. 

“I should bring you home.”  

“Your home?” she asked still a bit breathless. 

She could feel his shoulders shake as he silently laughed. “Not if we’re to avoid a true scandal.” 

Oh, yes. That. 

Morwen reluctantly parted from Thengel, slipping off of his lap. A strand of her long hair had caught in his beard and she brushed it away. Then she glanced up at the sky where the sun had done them no favors by creeping so steadily west without their leave or notice. Morwen felt a little betrayed by it. 

Thengel must have read her mind. “If we leave now,” he said, “I can get you back before the evening meal when your mother is most likely to miss you.”

Morwen smoothed her skirt over her legs. “And then what?” 

“Then we can speak to your parents.”

Morwen hesitated. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Well.” She glanced at him, then away. “I’ve spent years concealing how I feel about you. The news might surprise my family. You know how well my parents enjoy the unexpected.” 

Morwen could tell by the look on Thengel’s face that Eldacar and beavers were not far from his thoughts. 

“But I’m hoping for relief.” She gave him a crooked, somewhat gallows smile, which seemed like a better alternative to a tremulous frown.

Thengel stared at her. “Relief?” 

“Yes. You’re taking me off my mother’s hands.” Morwen allowed herself a shrug. “Provided she doesn’t find anything to object to, then she might even be delirious with joy.” 

“That’ll be the day the king returns.” Thengel rubbed his brow. “I’ll be taking you out of Gondor entirely, remember, not merely off her hands.”

“Do you consider that a material difference?” 

Thengel nodded slowly. “Leaving family and friends and familiar haunts, all without a clue as to when? Yes. Your mother might object to that.” 

He had personal experience as a basis, too, Morwen reflected. Her throat began to feel tight, not because of any latent regret, but because of the enormous weight of what had to be communicated to an audience whose feelings she felt uncertain of. 

“And one must admit that there’s a slight age difference,” she said primly, “which some people might choose to scrutinize.”  

Thengel gave her a look. “Only slight?” 

“I like to believe that I’m older on the inside.” She wrinkled her nose while she mused, “In worldliness, I’m practically forty….which when averaged out with my recent birthday brings me to the ripe old age of thirty and a half.” 

Thengel gave her a wry smile. “I’m sure the gossips will take that into consideration when they perform the arithmetic.” He rose and then held out his hand to her. “Are you ready to find out what people will think of me whisking off my dubiously aged bride to the uncouth north?” 

“People may have guessed already.” She winced. “But Mother and Father?”

“And Gaeron,” Thengel added. 

Morwen took his hand. “Oh, Gaeron. He might feel a little too bruised with his own marriage floundering to hear about us without it stinging a little.” 

“He’ll feel more bruised if he doesn’t hear about it.” Thengel helped her rise. She picked her way off of the blanket, taking the plates to rinse in the stream.

“Are you sure? What if we avoid him altogether?” she asked over her shoulder. 

“Yes, Morwen. I mean to tell him separately, if possible. I owe Gaeron that, at least.” Thengel squinted at the city walls while he shook off the blanket and began to fold it. “He may take umbrage that I kept him in the dark about you.” 

“Then we might be forced to make a Grand Gesture.” Morwen glanced doubtfully at the saddlebags on the ground as she returned from rinsing the dishes. “It would be something to visit Wilderland. We could meet their dragon killer. I’d rather face him than Gaeron in a bad mood.” 

Thengel smiled ruefully. “That journey would take a month at least. I haven’t packed quite enough for that.” Then, more seriously, he added, “I believe that honesty is best.” 

“I know you do — which makes this our first official disagreement as a couple.” Morwen exhaled, waving a plate toward the city. “But onwards, I suppose.” 

Thengel gripped her shoulder. “In my homeland, we say, Eall here byþ hwæt þonne se lateow byþ hwæt. The éored is brave when the marshal is brave.” He winked at her. “My knees won’t knock if yours won’t.” 

Morwen half laughed. “Now you’re giving me too much credit. I used up all my bravado trying to match you with….” She covered her mouth at the last moment, remembering her penance. “Never mind.” 

…

Gaeron caught them in the end. They were riding back to the stables when he appeared on foot, having just left Tathren’s lodgings. Morwen caught his eye by accident. She reined in Vanyaroco and brother and sister blinked stupidly at one another in the street of the sixth circle. 

“Gaeron, it’s you….” Morwen stammered, not quite prepared to meet her brother following the closest thing she’d ever experienced to a tryst. She wondered if it showed on her face. 

“Hullo, Mora. Thengel,” he greeted as he gave Vanyaroco his hand to snuffle. He looked pointedly at Morwen. “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve made positive strides with Tathren despite your lack of assistance today,” he said magnanimously. “Are you just coming back from your outing?” 

Morwen nodded.  

Gaeron surveyed Thengel with amusement. “Then am I to wish you joy?” he teased. 

Gaeron’s prescience made them stare in mute surprise as he stroked Vanyaroco’s neck.

“As it happens,” Thengel began. “Yes.” 

The smirk slipped. Gaeron gaped over the top of the palfrey’s head at Thengel. He glanced at Morwen, then back at Thengel, looking more and more scandalized. “You mean Morwen’s harebrained scheme worked?”

“Her scheme?” Thengel asked. 

Gaeron folded his arms. “She told me all about it last night. This matchmaking business she roped you into.” 

Thengel saw light just a moment or two after Morwen. She reached across the space between them and gripped his arm to forestall him from correcting her brother just yet. 

Gaeron looked around. His expression shifted as he noticed the size of their party. “Wait. Then where’s Húnil?” 

Morwen gave Thengel a look that said she would handle Gaeron. She ignored the pinch of unease on Thengel’s face. 

“Thengel didn’t fall in love with Húnil after all,” she explained, aiming for meekness. “You were right and I was wrong.” 

Her attempt must have succeeded because she noticed Thengel out of the corner of her eye, giving her an incredulous look. She had about as much native meekness as her mother had. 

Gaeron smirked again at Thengel, Morwen’s confession bolstering his good mood as she intended. “Ah, I can wish you joy for making a narrow escape then.”

“But did he?” Morwen conjectured quietly. 

Gaeron ignored her and, seemingly, the trace of a smirk that flitted across Thengel’s mouth. “It’s a fool’s errand, I told her, setting you up with Húnil. How long did Mora make you suffer?” 

“Longer than you know,” Thengel murmured. 

“Did the poor woman flee home already?” Gaeron chuckled. 

Morwen weighed whether or not this moment merited a falsehood. And if she could count on Thengel to corroborate one. But he got ahead of her. 

“Húnil had other arrangements to attend to this morning,” Thengel answered. 

Gaeron blinked from sister to friend, slowly taking in the fact of the horses, the saddlebags, and the angle of the sun…the lack of a third party. The magnanimity began to fade. 

“It’s been hours since I left you at Húnil’s gate.” He rounded on Morwen. “Were the two of you alone the whole time?”

“Not if you count horses and ducks,” she answered. “Or bees.” 

Gaeron resembled a man who did not count horses or ducks or bees. Not where it concerned his sister. A rather rosy-looking sister.

“You know, the two of you ought to be more careful or else people might get the wrong idea about you.” 

Morwen turned to Thengel for support. But something in his eyes made her think distinctly of the pleasant contours of his body against hers when he’d kissed her on the picnic blanket. It made her toes curl in her boots. No help there.

“It’s unlikely they’ve misread the situation,” Thengel opined. 

Morwen ducked her head to stifle a smile. She studiously picked a leaf fragment out of Vanyaroco’s mane in order to avoid her brother’s eye. Otherwise, she would lose her composure. 

Gaeron squared his jaw, but said, “All the same, Thengel, I expect Morwen to go gallivanting off wherever she wants, with whomever. But you should know better. People get strange notions.” 

He gave a less than subtle nod toward a growing number of interested individuals who had surreptitiously gathered to admire the “architecture” of whatever building happened to be within earshot of Ecthelion’s lieutenant and his interesting companions. 

“If you’re not otherwise engaged, Gaeron,” Thengel replied as he cast an eye on the architecturally inclined gossips. “I’d like to address some of those notions in private.” 

Gaeron blinked in surprise but turned to walk alongside Vanyaroco. “Very well.”  

Morwen cleared her throat, feeling they needed something to fill the void until they reached their destination. “Tell us about your success with Tathren. Is she coming home?” 

“Not yet,” Gaeron admitted. “But I’m invited to supper, so I stepped out to change clothes.” 

“Invited?” Morwen felt a stab of irritation at the thought. “Why are they treating you like an outsider?” 

“Renneth wants us to ease back into things,” Gaeron explained woodenly. “A second courtship, she called it.” 

“For how long?” she asked.

“Who can say?” Gaeron shrugged.  

It struck Morwen as odd that Renneth, not Tathren, seemed to be the author of this idea. “Do you want a courtship period?”

“Tathren didn’t raise an objection, so…” 

So, no. But what could he do if he wanted to prove to Tathren’s family that he had learned from his mistakes? What a tangle. 

“Thengel advised me to tread carefully,” Gaeron added, exchanging a rueful glance with his friend. “So I’m treading carefully.” 

“It’ll come right in the end,” Thengel assured him. “If you can be patient.” 

“It’s been days,” Gaeron grumbled. 

“Try years,” Thengel muttered in return. 

“What was that?” Gaeron asked. 

“He means that we think we can find something to take your mind off of it,” Morwen interjected. 

“How?” Gaeron asked. 

“Well.” Morwen stared ahead. She could see Thengel’s gate now, but they had a little ways to go before they reached any sort of privacy. “I can tell you a story about almost being hunted by a cat this morning.” 

Gaeron stared at her. “Eh?”

Morwen realized her error when Thengel looked stormy again. 

“Yes, tell Gaeron how you were nearly killed in Húnil’s garden,” Thengel drawled with a touch of acid in his tone. “We’ve never hunted a desert cat together.” 

“What are you talking about?” Gaeron demanded. Then he tilted his head, considering. “Do they give good sport?” 

“No,” Morwen cried as Thengel muttered, “I’m willing to find out.” 

Morwen gave each of her companions a sharp look. “Never mind, the pair of you. It’s a silly story which resulted in no harm done.” 

“The cat cornered her,” Thengel said blandly, which proved to be as much a warning in him as meekness in Morwen. “Forty pounds of muscle, tooth, and claw.” 

Gaeron and Thengel looked at one another, their expressions inscrutable. The last time she had witnessed that look as a girl, one of the village lads who liked to throw rocks at her had suddenly given her a wide berth. A very wide berth. Come to think of it, the family might have moved to another village. 

“It’s impolitic to hunt Ecthelion’s cousin’s cat,” she reminded them. 

“Hm,” they murmured in unison. 

“You must admit that Nahtar’s a very handsome creature,” she added to take their minds off of Nahtar’s murderous side. “He reminds me of Serion.” 

That earned her incredulous stares from both of her companions. Gaeron shook his head while Thengel’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

Perhaps she’d taken another misstep by referencing Serion. But Thengel hadn’t made her promise not to. At least the story had taken Gaeron’s mind off of Tathren and any concern over gossip. But now as they approached Thengel’s gate she hoped that might put an end to any discussion of hunting. 

Once they entered the yard, the boy ran out from a side door. Gaeron helped Morwen dismount with unusual eagerness. The boy took the lead ropes and walked the horses back to the stables while Thengel ushered Morwen and Gaeron inside. 

Morwen forgot everything else the instant she stepped foot in the entry hall, distracted by the new knowledge that this would be her home, too. Every detail, even the persistent dust and bareness, felt fresh and interesting. 

An odd, fleeting sensation overcame her. A desire of her own volition to sweep up the dust. It made her pause. Had she really experienced it or had she made it up? She touched her forehead. It felt cool and dry, so she couldn’t blame this stroke of domesticity on a fever. 

A slight sound of shuffling feet brought her back to the present. Gaeron and Thengel both watched her while she gazed around daydreaming. The shuffling feet belong to Gaeron. 

“Stairs?” she asked, referring to today’s choice of seating. 

Thengel smiled self-consciously. “After last time, I ordered some benches to be brought back from the warehouse. They should have been delivered by now.” 

“Stairs?” Gaeron asked. “What last time?” 

“Never mind, Gaeron,” Morwen said. “We had nowhere else to sit after you left me behind yesterday. It took some time for a cart to arrive.” 

“Oh. Yes.” Gaeron cleared his throat and winced slightly at his own thoughtlessness. 

Thengel ushered them into the bare drawing room. Morwen took in the expanse of bookshelves and had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. He’d said he’d turned the house upside down for her. But it seemed that Thengel also meant to court her father’s good opinion. 

He deposited the saddlebags on a door that rested over two sawhorses, careful to avoid some documents lying there.  

“We’d better get these back to the kitchen,” Morwen said. “Before the picnic things go bad.” 

“Did you take Morwen on a picnic by herself?” Gaeron asked, his expression clouding over.  

“I told you about the ducks and…” Morwen trailed off. Judging by Gaeron’s cloudy expression, time hadn’t altered his opinion about the suitability of waterfowl as chaperones. 

“Am I reading this correctly,” Gaeron asked. “The two of you rode down to the Pelannor for the day — together — even though Húnil couldn’t come with you?”

Morwen glanced at Thengel, who nodded. “That sums it up, I’d say,” he answered.  

Gaeron crossed his arms. “That’s interesting because today my mother-in-law brought some gossip to my attention regarding a certain reception for King Bard’s ministers where the two of you stuck together like glue the entire evening.”  

Morwen considered some of those interesting moments when Thengel had held her particularly close before and during the dancing. “Is that the exact wording Renneth used?” 

“No,” he intoned. “And I didn’t credit her turn of phrase until now.” 

“Not the entire night,” Morwen corrected. “Thengel danced with Húnil and I danced with Serion until someone scared him off.” 

A muscle ticked in Thengel’s cheek. 

Morwen gaped at him. “Was that you? I thought one of Serion’s past indiscretions had caught up to him.” 

“I considered it a current indiscretion,” Thengel replied solemnly. “You’ll remember my explanation to you yesterday about how I feel when someone tries to take what is mine.” 

“Mine?” Gaeron sputtered. “What do you mean mine…I mean yours?” 

Nobody paid him any attention. 

“Hm.” Morwen crossed her arms. “Where was that possessiveness a year ago?” 

“Biding it’s time,” Thengel answered. “But now that’s run out.” 

Morwen brightened. “Fair game?”  

“Not for Serion,” Thengel drawled wolfishly. 

The two stood grinning foolishly at one another. Gaeron said something neither one of them bothered to hear. Then Morwen’s gaze turned vague as her mind jogged to rearrange the events of the reception. She knew she would have to reinterpret the entire week under this new light. 

Morwen bit her lip as one particular moment stood out. “At dinner the other day, when I met you at the door you seemed suddenly alive and happy…” 

“For a brief moment, I thought you understood me,” Thengel told her. “Imagine my dismay when you’d invited Húnil to dine as part of your special project instead.” 

“Understood what?” Gaeron groused. 

Morwen cupped her cheeks with her hands, forgetting Gaeron entirely. “Oh.” She winced. “Thengel, I’m so sorry…I let your letter color everything. I couldn’t see past it.” 

Thengel reached for her hand, which she gave him. He squeezed it. “Never mind. I’m sorry it caused you so much pain. But it’s all settled now. I only hope you’ve burnt that letter.” 

Gaeron had been steadily turning redder throughout the conversation as the veil lifted for him. “You’ve been writing to one another?” 

“I will burn it,” she promised Thengel. “Now that I know how you really feel.” 

“How does he feel? Never mind.” Gaeron’s expression deepened into a severe glower as he stared at their entwined fingers. “Thengel, I need a word.” 

“You may have it.” He let go of Morwen’s hand and gestured for them to sit on the benches. 

Gaeron crossed his arms. “Alone, if you please.” 

Thengel’s lips thinned for a moment. He paused, then said, “Morwen has a right to be present.” 

“That’s all right. Give me the picnic things. I’ll find Sadril,” she said with an acquiescence that should have been a warning to both of them. 

“That’s not necessary, Morwen,” Thengel said. 

Morwen gave him a look. She wanted to stay but Gaeron always treated her like she had glass ears that would shatter at the sound of a choice or irreverent word. If she could find a way to listen in, then she’d hear what Gaeron thought without him resorting to delicate phrases and euphemisms. 

Thengel looked like he wanted to argue but decided to die on a different, more pressing hill. She brushed his arm as she passed him on her way to the door, which he acknowledged with a small smile that Gaeron couldn’t see.

Morwen stood alone in the passage for a moment, looking for a place to dump the bags. She had no intention of taking them to the kitchen and risking missing something important. But the boy must have signaled their arrival to Sadril earlier because the housekeeper arrived in the passage a moment later looking unsurprised by Morwen’s presence. 

Sadril took one look at Morwen, then said, “Is he marrying you or not?” 

Morwen blinked. “How did…?” 

Sadril clucked her tongue, which provided all the explanation she would give.

Morwen gestured at the door. “I agreed but now your master’s about to deliver the news to my brother.” 

A brother whose mother-in-law had put him in a suspicious mood, rendering her earlier attempt to stroke his pride entirely moot. 

Sadril took the saddlebags. “Master Gaeron?” 

Morwen nodded. 

“Should be lively then.” Sadril glanced at the door. “The keyholes in this house are excessively large, lady. I’ll find you a cushion.” Then she stalked back the way she’d come. 

A little while later, the housekeeper returned with a plush cushion, a sheet, a broom, and a bucket of water. She left the bucket beside the door. 

“What’s the water for?” Morwen asked. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a use for it,” Sadril muttered. 

Morwen got out of her way while Sadril swept the area around the door and then laid down the sheet so that Morwen’s skirt wouldn’t be covered in any persistent dust. 

She knelt down. The keyhole looked original to the house from a time when they made keys large enough to use as pocket weapons. She could see through it into the room with ease, though with limited scope. 

Gaeron’s waist cut into view. “It doesn’t matter what time Renneth’s supper will be served. Now let me ask you a question.” 

Once Gaeron paced out of view, she saw Thengel leaning against a bookshelf with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes followed Gaeron’s trajectory through the room. “If you wish,” he replied calmly.  

“Explain why you exposed my sister to gossip by riding through the city alone with her?” 

Gaeron blocked her view again, so she couldn’t see Thengel’s expression. She never realized her brother had turned into a nervous pacer like their father. He’d chosen an inconvenient moment to develop that nervous trait. 

“We had a picnic on the Pelennor where Morwen agreed to marry me.” 

Silence. Then Gaeron blustered, “Excuse me?” 

“Morwen consented to marry me, Gaeron.” 

Morwen almost snorted at Thengel’s condensed version of the afternoon. Not that she blamed him for keeping the sensitive details to himself. If Gaeron found out about the orange cakes he’d probably try to steal their cook. Morwen couldn’t allow that to happen. Not for anything. She hadn’t lived before those cakes. 

As for the kisses… 

Gaeron would probably feel unhappy about what else happened on the picnic blanket even if it didn’t come close to Húnil’s novel ideas for a sofa. Their behavior hadn’t scandalized the ducks, but even so, Gaeron seemed especially sensitive today. 

Gaeron scoffed somewhere out of sight. “That’s a tasteless joke,” he groused. “Did Morwen put you up to it?” 

Thengel’s eyes looked sharply to his right in Gaeron’s direction. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Gaeron, I intend to make Morwen my wife. I’ve drafted a letter to Fengel’s council explaining the betrothal if you care to read my official intentions.” 

The existence of such a letter caught Morwen by surprise. When had he written it? 

“Fengel’s council, indeed,” Gaeron snorted as he came back into view. 

When Thengel produced the document from the desk deeper in the room, Gaeron’s brow darkened. He scanned it quickly, noting the very official seals dangling from the parchment with some confusion. 

“But…” Gaeron stammered. He considered Thengel’s stolid expression. “You can’t be serious.”

“As serious as a magistrate at assizes,” Thengel assured him. 

“I don’t believe it.” Gaeron waved his hand. “I know that Morwen’s trying to truss you up with Húnil. She told me so last night.” 

“Don’t expect her to succeed,” Thengel answered dryly.

Morwen bit her lip as the expression of patient suffering returned to Thengel’s face. Given how deeply she’d misunderstood his feelings for her, she felt compelled to admit that she’d put him through a Trial over the last few days. 

Gaeron snorted. “I don’t and I told her as much.” 

“Then you know that Húnil isn’t an object for me.” 

Gaeron stood silent for a moment, the wheel of his mind visibly churning the waters of thought. Then an ugly expression marred his profile. “That letter,” he pointed to Thengel’s desk where the parchment lay. “You’re sending that to the king? With my sister’s name on it.” 

“As soon as I receive your family’s blessing to do so, yes.” Thengel reached out and grasped Gaeron’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ll be my brother both in arms and in law.” 

Gaeron stood in shock as the truth came home to roost. Then he shook off Thengel’s hand. “By the Tree, Thengel. Mora’s barely grown. Just twenty-one years old — the age you were on her fourth birthday.” 

“I know it’s unusual.” 

“Unusual?” Gaeron barked. “It’s worse than that. It’s…irregular.” He paced a few more times before pausing in front of Thengel again. “Are we talking about the same child who draws silly pictures instead of attending to her duties? You can look at her in that way?” 

“Give Morwen some credit,” Thengel argued. Then he said, “She has an astute sensibility.” 

“Astute?” He stared at Thengel as if his friend had sprouted a cabbage from his neck. “Her work’s nothing more than absurd doodles. A completely ridiculous way for a lady of her station to draw.”

The expression in Thengel’s eyes could cut glass. “Perhaps you’re confusing the medium with the lens.” 

“Huh?” 

“Have you considered that the artist renders the world and the people in it as they’re presented to her?” Thengel challenged. “If the sky is blue, don’t blame the painter.”

While Gaeron scoffed, Morwen felt herself blushing. No one had ever tried to interpret her artwork in her hearing. She couldn’t tell which sensation won out — warmth at Thengel’s deep consideration or the mortification that came with being entirely dismissed by her own brother. 

“By that frame, you’re suggesting that the world is completely absurd.” 

Thengel looked askance. “Are you saying it isn’t?”  

“Of course,” Gaeron retorted. “There’s reason. There’s logic. There’s order...”  

“In the year 2885 Folcwine’s worthy sons, gold-givers, died in Ithilien fulfilling the Oath of Eorl. The youngest son, rotten with avarice, ascended the throne in their stead.” Thengel frowned bitterly. “Don’t tell me the world isn’t absurd.” 

“Thanks to that absurdity, as you call it, you’re next in line to be king.” 

Thengel leaned back against the shelf letting the silence answer for him. 

“You can philosophize Mora’s drawings any which way it suits you, but I still think she’s childish,” Gaeron sputtered on. “The material point, Thengel, is that she’s either in need of maturing or else exceedingly impertinent.” 

“Certainly impertinent,” Thengel replied with a faint smile. “And you’ll note that I’m not spared by her pencil, either.” 

“Yes, very endearing,” Gaeron groused. “That’s the type of girl you want as your consort? Or is that what you’re telling her so that she’ll lower her guard around you?”

The smile disappeared. Thengel’s jaw worked for a long moment, before he asked, “What are you suggesting, Gaeron?”

“I don’t want to suggest anything, but becoming a wife — becoming a queen…at her age.” He laughed, but it sounded dark and unpleasant. “What sort of good could she do you except keep your bed warm? Maybe that’s all you want.” 

“Think of what you’re saying,” Thengel warned in a low growl. “This is your sister.” 

“That’s what alarms me.” Gaeron resumed pacing. “I know Mora’s been infatuated with you for years but I never thought you’d take her seriously. She never takes anything seriously at all!” 

“Very seriously, as it happens,” Thengel replied. “She’s not a child.” 

“A convenient point of view for a man with your…appetites.” Gaeron worried the buckle on his belt while he thought, not noticing how his words caused Thengel to blanch. “This has to be her idea. This silly fixation to get you married off to someone in seven days. She would throw herself on the fire just to succeed.” 

Morwen began to feel dizzy from the accusations and the circular reasoning. For a moment, Gaeron’s newest opinion seemed to get the better of Thengel for its depth of stupidity too. She began to feel the need to intervene. 

But Thengel rallied and said dryly, “Fortunately, it’s an idea that occurred to both of us. I’m told that’s the nature of consent. You’re looking for dark motives where there are none.”  

“Well, if there’s nothing untoward going on,” Gaeron countered, “then why isn’t Morwen telling me about it herself?”

Thengel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Think, man. You insisted on a private conversation,” he reminded Gaeron with fraying patience. “Tell me, what about this engagement worries you?”

“What about it shouldn’t worry me? I had no idea until this moment that you’d ever looked at Morwen that way. I trusted you as a brother,” Gaeron said. “And I’m rewarded with secrets?” 

“I had nothing to tell you before now,” Thengel explained. “When I first learned what my feelings were, I kept my distance but —”

Gaeron’s color changed. “First learned? How long has this been going on?” 

“A little over two years.”

Appalled, Gaeron raked his hair away from his face, struck by spontaneous arithmetic. “Nineteen. Thengel, she was just nineteen then! I can scarcely believe it.” He seemed to struggle in his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

“Why would I tell you when I couldn’t approach her with my feelings?” 

Sadril returned again with a mug of tea for Morwen, so she didn’t get to see her brother’s face just then.   

“How are they progressing?” the housekeeper whispered with the subtlety of a horn. 

“Horribly,” Morwen whispered, accepting the drink. “Gaeron might throw Thengel out of a window. Are there any more of those delightful orange cakes?” 

She thought she might have to leave them in a trail to lure Gaeron out of the house and save Thengel from further mortification. 

Sadril grinned. “Did you like them? Cook and I thought they might help our master’s cause.” 

Morwen blinked. She’d spent so much of her week arranging Thengel’s romance with Húnil that it never occurred to Morwen that someone might be maneuvering her, as well. 

“How clever,” she murmured.  

Sadril smirked. “I’ll bring you some more.” 

The housekeeper disappeared again. Morwen cautiously sipped the steaming tea and almost spit it out again. Raspberry leaf! Morwen cast a wary glance at the ceiling, picturing in her mind’s eye the two other floors of bedrooms and playrooms and nurseries. She didn’t know if she should congratulate Sadril for her dedication to her master’s cause — or run for it. 

Before she could make a decision, Gaeron’s voice carried through the door, forcing her attention back to the argument at hand. She pressed her cheek against the wood and peeked through the keyhole again. 

Gaeron’s expression had sharpened during the interval and his voice turned hard. “You waited until after my wedding to sneak into the house to get at her, for one thing. How often have you stolen opportunities to be alone with her?” 

Morwen burned all over. As if Thengel had been sniffing around her heels for years, luring her in. The opportunities had presented themselves and what had he done? Gone to hide on the coast with the corsairs.

Thengel glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. “I didn’t crawl in by the window to drag her off into the night. We had a friendly conversation with your mother present.” 

Morwen felt a pleasant answering flutter as she considered the alternative version of that evening. Could he try crawling in through her window now? She’d make it easy for him and leave the shutters unlatched. 

“Then you got her away from her friends and hid out with her in some dirty field all day.”

Unfair, Morwen thought. They’d found a meadow and it had been very tidy if you didn’t count the bit where the fallen willow had kicked up its roots. 

“We’ve been fast friends for years,” Thengel reminded Gaeron. “Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my character?” 

“Before now, I would say of course not, or else you wouldn’t have been granted so much access to Mora,” Gaeron replied with heat. “But this step is…Thengel, you can’t blame me for feeling concerned and disgusted.” 

“I don’t blame you for your concern but there will be trouble between us if you continue to accuse me of mischief toward her.” 

“What else am I supposed to make of this turn? She’s seventeen years the younger. A man your age has no right to look her way,” Gaeron railed. “And Morwen shouldn’t decide on her future yet. She has several more years before she needs to think of marrying anyone — even if you haven’t.” 

Morwen sipped her tea without tasting it as the tension mounted. One comfort presented itself. She had a feeling Sadril and Thengel’s cook didn’t agree with Gaeron, which meant in the event of a brawl her brother would be outnumbered. 

Thengel held up his hand. “That’s for Morwen and your parents to decide,” he said, ignoring the barb at his age. 

“And do you believe that they’ll look on you favorably after today? Half the city’s probably been and gone from Mother’s sitting room by now.” He added, “On a market day, no less. The pair of you were likely the talk of every merchant stall and gatehouse in the city.” 

“That’s natural,” Thengel said reasonably, “when a king’s son asks a woman to marry him.”

“Well, you might have tried to make the entire city work a little harder to find out about it.” 

Gaeron paced around the room, raking his fingers through his hair. He pulled some out by accident and shook off the loose strands. They fell to the dusty floor. Something about that triggered an inspiration. He glared at Thengel. 

“What is all this?” he demanded, gesturing at the floor, then the walls. “These changes to the house.” He pointed at the door, causing Morwen to flinch as if he had poked her. Some of the tea spilled down her arm so she put the mug down. “You’re seriously fixing up the place with the intention that Mora will move in?” 

“Do you expect Morwen to live in a home where the plaster might come down on her head at any moment?” Thengel asked. 

Morwen glanced up at the ceiling again. She hadn’t considered that the house might kill her. The egregious bathtub had been too distracting. 

Gaeron waved away Thengel’s reasonable explanation like an annoying fly. “You premeditated this and kept it from me. That’s what I can’t countenance,” he grumbled. “Perhaps it’s as much my fault as anyone’s. I’ve been too freehanded with her and far too trusting of you. It’s a good thing my parents are hauling her off home to Lossarnach tomorrow.”

The final straw. Morwen hadn’t considered leaving town as a possibility. Surely she couldn’t go back to Lossarnach now that she and Thengel finally understood one another — now that she knew what it felt like to be held by him instead of just dreaming about it. They heard her muffled howl from the other side of the door.

Gaeron pressed his lips into a grim line, advancing toward the door. Morwen scrambled to her feet almost slipping on the sheet as the door flew open. It caught on the fabric and the cushion, sweeping them aside. She grabbed for the bucket. 

“Morwen, quit listening through the keyhole and —” Splash. “— ugh!” 

Morwen lowered the empty bucket, staring at her brother’s sodden appearance while he gaped back at her through runnels of water flowing down his face and hair. Behind him, Thengel watched them both in blank surprise. 

Gaeron glowered damply while Morwen hugged the bucket to her chest as a sort of buffer. He looked unhappy, but less likely to throw her out of a window. 

“Was that necessary?” he scolded through his teeth. He yanked the bucket away before she could find any other use for it. Then he shoved the door open wider without waiting for an answer. “Get in here.” 

Morwen pressed her lips together and quaked with silent irritation as she passed by her brother. She had to pick her way over the puddle she’d created, which had turned the dust into a kind of pale slime. She shot Thengel an apologetic look for the mess. 

The three of them stood in a sort of triangle. Gaeron dripped. Morwen smoothed her riding skirt, which looked more wrinkled than she had previously realized. And Thengel held his tongue. In fact, Morwen thought he might be biting it. 

Gaeron licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Now, Mora…” 

“Yes, Gaeron?” she said with measured concentration as if daring him to vent his spleen so she could vent hers. 

“As you doubtless heard,” he said slowly, thumbing the air in Thengel’s direction. “In addition to your indiscrete behavior this week, Thengel has confided some troubling…”

Morwen felt her cheeks grow hot. “Troubling?” she intoned. 

Gaeron relented a little. “Well, he’s told me some news.” 

“Yes, I expect he has,” Morwen snapped. She felt like a lid rattling on a boiling pot, though she did manage to contain herself with only the occasional sizzle. “That’s why we’re here. To tell you our news.” 

“And how do you expect me to feel about you…and him?” Gaeron demanded. 

Morwen glanced at Thengel. He gave her a weak smile. He’d been deeply hurt and did a poor job of hiding it. She squared her shoulders, determined to put a stop to any further ill-treatment. 

“Believe it or not,” she began with an imperious tone that her mother used to put family members, servants, and neighbors in their place. “I didn’t consider your feelings, Gaeron. They seem secondary to my own in this matter. And now that your show of spleen has ended and you’ve abused your dear friend as badly as anyone can abuse his friends, you will please keep out of our affairs.” 

Gaeron stared before saying, “You know I can’t do that. As your older brother…” 

“As my older brother, you may wish me joy and come with us to ask for Father’s blessing.”

Now Gaeron’s pot threatened to overflow. He turned red from root to crown. “Morwen, what has gotten into you? This whole scenario is out of the question. How could you entertain it?” 

“You mean I should marry Thengel without asking for my father’s blessing?” 

“No!” Gaeron bellowed.  

“Then how can it be out of the question?” 

“You’re twisting my words on purpose.” He wiped more water from his forehead. “How would you feel if our positions were reversed?” 

“Confused about why I’m picking a fight with my sister and my friend when I should be patching things up with my new wife,” she retorted.  

“Fine. Just…fine,” Gaeron muttered. “Ignore me if you like. We’ll go home this instant. Let’s learn what Mother has to say. It should be scathing.” 

Morwen blinked. She hadn’t meant for her brother to call her bluff. But her chin tipped upward in a challenge. “If you insist.” 

“I do insist. Even if it means risking my marriage by missing the supper they insist I attend —”

Morwen planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare pin that on me.” 

“If you hadn’t been sneaking around—” 

“We didn’t sneak. We were quite flagrant, actually. And if you intend to make a stink about it, then I’ll move in with Thengel right now.” 

Thengel raised a hand. “Morwen…”

Brother and sister ignored him. 

“You’re bluffing,” Gaeron called. “Even you wouldn’t be so improper. Besides, Thengel hasn’t got a scrap of furniture.” 

Morwen crossed her arms. “I’ll sleep in the new tub.” 

“Enjoy the crick in your neck, then,” Gaeron spat. 

Morwen glanced at Thengel. “Am I in danger of that?” 

He looked like he wanted to reconsider his answer before ever giving it, yet said, “It is sized to fit two. So, probably not.”  

Gaeron blustered unintelligibly as the full extent of Thengel’s interesting hopes for Morwen, as Sadril had called them, finally caused the pot to boil over. Morwen braced herself for the bellowing that promised to follow. 

Instead, the city bells tolled the hour. Gaeron looked stricken as he counted them out. Then he glanced down at his soiled clothes, pinching the soaked fabric of his tunic between his fingers. 

“I’ll be late,” he said through gritted teeth. “No thanks to you, Morwen, now I have to change clothes. I can’t show up like this.” 

“You rushed at me and I thought — ”

“It doesn’t matter. Come home with me now. We’ll sort this marriage business out later.” 

Morwen stood beside Thengel and took his arm. “You go. Thengel needs bolstering after what you’ve said.” 

Gaeron stepped toward her. “Morwen, don’t be obstinate.” 

She tried Thengel’s approach and waited in blank silence. 

Gaeron swiped water from his forehead angrily. He gave them one last unhappy look and then squelched from the room. They heard him stumble, which Morwen supposed might have been caused by his boots catching on the sheet and cushion she’d left piled up just outside the threshold. Then his footsteps echoed as he rushed along the passage. A door slammed. 

Gone again. 

Morwen’s temper deflated in the absence of an enflamed brother. She gazed at Thengel with a wrinkled expression. He looked equally wrinkled. 

“Perhaps I overstepped by mentioning the bathtub,” Morwen reflected, letting go of his arm.  “Gaeron seems sensitive about it.” 

“He’s sensitive about you,” Thengel corrected. 

Morwen swallowed against the bitter taste in her mouth. “I’m sorry he insulted you.” 

Thengel grimaced as he peered through the open doorway but said nothing. 

“Would it help if I told him that I seduced you and not the other way around?”

Thengel shook his head. “Let’s not talk of that, please. Gaeron made those accusations out of anger and they are ugly.”  

“Did we behave as brazenly as he thinks we did?” 

“Does it matter?” Thengel countered. “As you can see, I intend to do the right thing by you.” 

Morwen slumped onto a bench next to Thengel, collecting dust on her skirt. “Today I felt scandalized, hopeless, and then so happy. Now I feel a little ill,” she confided. 

“I warned you about the cake.”  

Morwen made a face at Thengel. Then the color rose in her cheeks again and she jumped up. “He’ll tell Mother and Father all about us. We’ve got to catch up to him.” 

Thengel hooked her arm before she could dash away. “Let Gaeron be. He needs time to cool off and so do we. Whatever he says to your parents won’t change our plans.”

“You don’t think they’ll raise any difficulties?” She collapsed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “We should run for it rather than find out.” 

“To Wilderland?” He sounded half tempted. 

“Yes. Even to Umbar or horrible Pelargir.” Morwen gestured toward the door. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Thengel’s brow rose. “Don’t you mean Pelargir or horrible Umbar?” 

“No. I hate Pelargir,” she said vehemently into his tunic. “We didn’t eat all the picnic things, so we could be ready in a moment.” 

Thengel sighed and gently squeezed her to himself. “You ate all the cakes.” 

“Sadril’s bringing me more.” 

“She…?” He shook his head. “Regardless. Running won’t help,” he said, though she thought he secretly agreed with her. 

Morwen guessed that being referred to as some sort of libertine by his close friend and future brother certainly benchmarked a new low for one lifetime. That said something for a man exiled by his own father.

Never mind that she’d been reduced to a bed warmer like one of Húnil’s kittens. “Am I really going to be useless to you?” she asked, glancing up. 

Thengel squared his jaw. “You heard that too?”

She nodded. 

“Put it from your mind, please. It isn’t true.” 

She tucked her head under his chin. “Gaeron believes it is. I had no idea he thought so little of me.” 

“Sometimes our own families struggle to truly see us,” he answered softly. “Where we’re going, we’ll need your brightness, your irreverence, and your pragmatism.” 

“Even the hair-raising parts?” 

Thengel half laughed. “Even those, dear heart. Don’t give Gaeron’s opinion any credit. He feels threatened because he didn’t notice what was growing right under his nose. When his pride settles, he’ll come around.” 

A horrible thought struck her. “Suppose Gaeron bars all the windows and locks the doors once I’m home? I could be shut up there forever if he’s mad enough.” 

She felt Thengel grin against her ear, perhaps imagining the consequences of that for Gaeron. “You’d think of something.” 

“You mean you wouldn’t rescue me?” 

Thengel gently tipped her chin up with his fingers. “Do you need me to? That would only steal your thunder as a consummate strategist.” She felt silent laughter rumble in his chest. 

Morwen glanced at him with a wry expression. “You must admit that after only a few odd turns, my strategies placed everyone more or less where they wished to be.”
 
“I’ll allow it, yes.” 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she said as he laughed. “Now kiss me before Gaeron sends the City Watch to stop us.” 
 
Thengel smiled self-consciously before chastely brushing her lips with his. Morwen reached a hand behind his head, seizing his mouth in a way that would certainly cause Gaeron to feel justified for his recent fit of missishness. 

She released him long enough to ask a question that had been rolling around in the back of her mind. “Why a bathtub exactly?” 

Thengel shrugged. “Too much time daydreaming of you while living on the river, I expect. Water reminds me of you now.” 

“The corsairs have a lot to answer for,” she complained though she laughed. 

That interesting gleam returned to Thengel’s eyes as he kissed her again. The hesitation evaporated. She felt herself melting against him as his hands smoothed down her ribs to her waist to her lower back, though she had just enough of her wits about her to feel the cool roundness of stoneware as Sadril pressed a plate of cakes into her hand. At any moment she would push away from Thengel so she could eat those cakes. She could hold the plate perfectly straight until then. 

They stayed locked in an embrace until they heard the soft thud of little baked goods hitting the floor. 

Chapter Text

When Thengel and Morwen arrived at her parents’ home, they found Gwereneth in her sitting room with Aranel and her mother, Lady Arthiel. Morwen stopped short at the sight and stared in the doorway, causing Thengel to nearly walk into her. He grabbed her waist at the last moment and gently steered her into the room. 

It was late in the day for visitors and Gwereneth had never once been graced by the wife of the Keeper of the Keys. The woman’s eyes became bright when they entered the room. No doubt Arthiel noticed the placement of Thengel’s hands. Morwen wondered if their guests had also been given a front-row seat to Gaeron’s arrival…and therefore how much of Morwen’s business they were already privy to beyond the jaunt down to the Pelennor. 

Also surprising, Gwereneth had seated her visitors on chairs placed among bolts of fabric mostly in drab earth tones. The fabric hadn’t been there when Morwen had left that morning. She noticed her mother’s open ledger on a nearby table. She conjectured that Aranel and her mother had interrupted Gwereneth in the middle of cataloging it all. 

“There you are, Morwen. Lord Thengel, good afternoon. Sit down, both of you,” Gwereneth ordered, waving an imperious finger at what remained of the open seating. 

Morwen glanced at Aranel as she moved to obey. The poor girl looked like she’d been caught stealing apples from someone’s orchard. Or worse — as if she’d been caught trying to hide behind a curtain and then forced to sit out in the open where everyone could see her. Horrors. 

If their paths had crossed more since Morwen’s presentation, then she might have taken Aranel under her wing. As it was, she felt pushing Aranel to perform the introduction between Tathren and Gaeron last year had been some help toward overcoming Aranel’s shyness. 

Lady Arthiel tapped her daughter’s arm. “Come along, Aranel. We’ve overstayed our welcome.” Both women rose. Lady Arthiel extended her hand to Gwereneth. “Thank you for being such a gracious host and allowing us to interrupt your, eh, little project.” Her gaze cast a wide net over the ugly fabric. “It would please me if you and your daughter would return the visit when next you stay in Minas Tirith.” She smirked a little. “We’re only a few doors down from Lord Thengel.” 

Gwereneth rose likewise and pressed Lady Arthiel’s fingers. “Good afternoon,” she said, offering no promises.  

“Morwen. Lord Thengel. A pleasure, as always.” Lady Arthiel bobbed. 

Thengel bowed over Lady Arthiel’s hand while Aranel looked like she wanted to slip out of the room before he’d notice her and extend the same courtesy. 

Morwen came to her rescue by seizing her elbow. “I’ll walk them out, Mother,” she offered. 

After Morwen marched the poor girl into the foyer, she added, “I’m sorry I missed your visit, Aranel. But at least you got to see Gaeron. I always tell everyone how you helped him to meet Tathren.” 

Aranel gave her a puzzled look. “Is he here?” she asked. “We didn’t have the…um…pleasure…” 

Morwen grinned at Aranel as her relief mounted. So they hadn’t been subjected to his lunatic ranting. “I’m sorry we never got to talk at the reception the other night.”

“It’s all right,” Aranel stammered. 

“Aranel said you seemed preoccupied with Lord Thengel at the time,” Lady Arthiel added with a feline grin that put Nahtar to shame.  “What a nice, long acquaintance he’s had with your family.” 

Aranel blushed, and frankly, so did Morwen as all her theories about shy women and discretion flew out the window. Information could be wheedled out of them by the Determined, seemingly. It didn’t occur to her to lump herself in that category. 

“The sort of acquaintance that only grows and changes with time,” Lady Arthiel mused. 

“It may,” Morwen replied. “But as we say in Lossarnach, a watched pear never ripens.” 

This one certainly wouldn’t while there were busybodies in the way. She stopped just short of pushing her mother’s guests out the door.

…

When Morwen came back, she found her mother quietly at work with her ledger on her lap. Gwereneth had recruited Thengel to hold up bolts for her inspection. Morwen gestured silently toward a muddy peach cotton currently in his grasp, looking a question rather than asking it. He shrugged unhelpfully. 

“So you both decided to put in an appearance finally,” Gwereneth droned when she looked up from her writing. 

“What’s all this?” Morwen asked, ignoring her mother’s passing shot of vinegar. 

“The apology from the clothmonger for getting our order wrong.” Then her mother made a face. “Never mind what it’s going to cost me to ship it all home. Really, there is such a thing as too much of an apology.” Then Gwereneth pinned both of them with humorless eyes. “Speaking of which, I’m prepared to hear yours.” 

Morwen took one look at her mother, swallowed, and said, “News travels fast.” 

“Certainly faster than the pair of you,” Gwereneth retorted. 

Morwen began pleating her skirt. “You’ve heard from Gaeron, then?” 

“Gaeron barely arrived home before you did and had the sense to avoid this room. No. Half the mothers on this circle told me everything I needed to know about the pair of you riding off together late this morning — then riding back late this afternoon after disappearing into the fields.” Gwereneth pursed her lips. “And as you can see, I’ve received a house call from the Keeper’s of the Keys own good woman who suddenly felt it would be prudent to visit me after all these years. Imagine that.”  

Morwen swallowed again. “Thengel wants to speak to Father.” 

Gwereneth settled in her chair and then folded her hands over the pages of her book. “I know that, too.” She pinned Thengel with her eagle eyes. “Amarthor’s waiting in the library. Off you go.” 

Thengel set the bolt down. But when Morwen turned to go with him, Gwereneth held up a finger. 

“No. You stay with me. I won’t have you outnumbering your father.” 

“But…” 

Gwereneth’s eyes widened to a dangerous degree. Morwen subsided. There was no use trying to get past that expression. 

Thengel gave her hand a parting squeeze, and then he disappeared — possibly to never be seen again if her father had landed on a particularly dry piece of arcana.  

Alone with her mother, Morwen didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d assumed that Thengel and she would tackle her parents together. She watched her mother go back to writing in her ledger as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. 

“So…” Morwen scratched her nose. “Lady Arthiel and Aranel?” 

Gwereneth sniffed. “You’d think Lord Belehir’s good woman had a premonition that we’re to have a significant addition to the family. If we were lingering in Minas Tirith any longer, I’d prepare for Lord Ecthelion’s wife next.”

“You might want to change into your best dress just in case,” Morwen conceded.

Gwereneth exhaled slowly, surveying the additional fabric and her daughter in one sweeping glance, perhaps deciding which would cause her the most work in the immediate future. 

“This is very sudden, Morwen,” she said finally. 

Morwen sat in her father’s chair. “Hardly. I’ve known Thengel most of my life.” 

Gwereneth said nothing, going back to cataloging the new fabric. 

Morwen stared at her mother. 

“Aren’t you going to lecture me?” she asked as Gwereneth set another bolt of fabric aside. She began to feel that the anticipation had caused her nerves to frizzle and disintegrate. 

Gwereneth glanced up with a sardonic expression. “Lecture the future queen of the Mark? I’m not a fool. Hand me that awful yellow-gray fabric next to you. The one that can only be described as a plague victim’s complexion.” 

Morwen reached for whatever bolt happened to be nearest to her without noticing the color. Somehow, her future position and the consequence it would give her didn’t seem like it would apply to her mother. If she was going to be a queen, it felt like her mother would simply be elevated to empress by default. It was an unlooked-for boon.

“Gaeron says I’m not allowed to marry Thengel.” 

“Gaeron is a fool.” 

Morwen looked over her shoulder as if he might drop down from the ceiling behind her. “Where is he?” 

“After he blustered all over the house, I sent him to attend to his own affairs and to keep out of yours.” 

Morwen stared. “You did?” 

That statement more or less mirrored her mother’s words to Morwen regarding Gaeron’s marriage the night he came home from his wedding tour. She began to better understand the phrase about fish out of water. She felt very much as if she had landed in some foreign place where the customs were not obvious or understandable. In the span of a week, their family circle had been turned on its head. 

Gwereneth scribbled some more. “I did. He’d only get in Thengel’s way.” 

“Lord Thengel,” Morwen corrected before self-preservation could prevent her. 

Gwereneth pursed her lips. “If he’s to be my son-in-law, then I think I may finally drop the formality when no guests are present. Give me the fabric that can only be described as bile.” 

Morwen thought that could be any number of the bolts but she chose the greenest one. “Then you don’t mind?” 

“Am I surprised? Utterly. To the core.” Gwereneth touched her forehead. “Do I mind? After eight hours of reflection and being put on the spot with our neighbors, no.” 

“Why not?” 

Gwereneth gave Morwen an exasperated frown. “Because honestly, Mora, there have been days when I feared you’d do much worse than marry a future king.” She pressed her fist to her heart. “I have had moments of actual terror that you would run off with a tinker.” 

Morwen tried and failed to remember any direct interactions she’d had with such a person. “Why a tinker?” 

“Because you could — and that’s always been reason enough for you.” 

Morwen felt compelled to agree with her mother. Fortunately, she had only had eyes for Thengel for some years. “But you aren’t bothered that Thengel’s so much older than I am?” 

Gwereneth pursed her lips. “You’re grown now. If Thengel’s age doesn’t bother you then I fail to see how it’s any business of mine.” 

“What about leaving Gondor one day? The whole family might not be together for years at a time.” 

Gwereneth hesitated a moment, but said, “I can’t speak to King Fengel’s health, but there may be some time before that happens. If you think you can countenance leaving Gondor, then your father and I won’t stand in your way.” 

“Really?” 

“Morwen, children are meant to leave their parents’ house. Whether that’s to live over in the next village or in Rohan is your decision provided you’ve chosen a person of good character. I have nothing to say against Thengel.” Perhaps because she couldn’t help herself, she mumbled, “I only hope he knows what he’s getting into.”  

Morwen pinched her arm. It hurt. Still, even if she wasn’t dreaming, she had a hard time wrapping her mind around this new, acquiescent version of her mother who suddenly approved of her choices. Still, at least one family member openly disapproved enough to leave a tarnish on things. 

“Gaeron said…” 

Gwereneth set down her pen with a snap. “If Gaeron had half a brain he’d realize that this union will give him a much-needed boost. In my opinion, Renneth and her husband are dragging out this whole unfortunate affair with Tathren,” Gwereneth ranted. “I doubt they’ll feel so high-handed when they discover that Gaeron will have a king’s heir for a brother-in-law.” 

Morwen hadn’t thought of it that way. It seemed a touch mercenary. “Do you really believe that Tathren’s parents are making it harder for them to reconcile?” 

Gwereneth pointed at another bolt with her pen and Morwen got up to fetch it for her. “By Gaeron’s account, she’s ready to make peace but they keep setting hurdles before him.” 

Morwen sat down again on her sofa, far away from the fabric. She hoped it would act as a deterrent to more fetching. “But why? What’s the advantage to anyone?” 

Gwereneth scribbled some notes onto her ledger. “Pure high-handedness, that’s what.” 

“Then why hasn’t Gaeron stormed the so-called castle already and brought her home?” That seemed to Morwen to be more his style. 

“Because she’s spooked him,” Gwereneth pronounced darkly, glancing up from the ledger. “Hand me the bolt next to the credenza.” 

“What? No.” Morwen gasped at the notion of anything spooking her older brother. Gaeron wasn’t afraid of anything, not even dark cellars. 

Morwen dragged herself from the sofa to retrieve the bolt that held ugly rust-colored cotton. She handed it to her mother and watched as Gwereneth cataloged it in her ledger. 

“Mark my words. He’s come to the uncomfortable realization that he can’t treat his wife in the same brusque manner that he treats his friends. Thengel might have been endeared to him after being thrown out a window but such behavior won’t work on Tathren.”

“I would have thought that’d be obvious,” Morwen murmured. Based on the afternoon, she didn’t believe Thengel had much enjoyed that behavior either. Contrary to the legend, they might have become friends despite it. 

“To a sensible person, it is.” Gwereneth gave her a sharp look. “Your brother’s too frightened to upset the waters again. I suppose Tathren wanted him to learn that lesson and now he has. Much good it did her.” Gwereneth harrumphed. “A wedding tour spoiled with no hope of getting their money back. Gossip circulating the city. The two of them behave like children when it comes to settling their differences.” 

“Huh.” Morwen would have to relate that back to Gaeron after he called her a child. How the tables had turned in one day. She wondered just how much they had turned. 

“Mother, if I’m going to be a princess, does that mean I have to help with packing?” 

Gwereneth shot her a vinegar look. “You aren’t one yet.” She sniffed. “But when you do become one, it’s going to be all chores and making sure other people are doing their chores. It’s sketching you won’t have time for.” Her mother’s lips curled in a worrisomely feline way. “How many servants does Thengel keep in that great big townhouse of his? Two?” 

Morwen sank down onto her sofa, feeling bleak. “Three.” 

“Heh.” Gwereneth smirked. She finished writing the last of the bolts’ information into her ledger before shutting the book with a satisfying snap. “I’m going upstairs to dress for supper. You’d be wise to do the same. Your clothes smell of horse.” Gwereneth’s nostrils flared in emphasis. “It’s fitting for the occasion but unpleasant.” 

Morwen had slumped against the back of the couch. “I don’t want to miss Thengel when he comes down.”  

“Suit yourself. I doubt the smell bothers him,” Gwereneth muttered before leaving the room. “I may pop my head into the library to make sure your father hasn’t gotten off topic.” Morwen could tell by the look on her face that the dinner conversation from a few days ago was also on her mind. “The Kin-strife is no way to begin an engagement.” 
 
“No one told Gaeron,” Morwen mumbled to herself as her mother swept out of the room. 

…

Morwen had been staring dejectedly into the empty fireplace long enough for her eyes to dry out when Thengel found her later. He dragged one of the chairs nearer to her sofa. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, touching her knee. Concern showed in the lines of his face. 

Morwen pushed herself upright, having slumped down in an undignified way. “Mother says I won’t have time to sketch once we’re married.” 

Thengel glanced away for a moment, looking confused. “Why not?” 

Morwen tucked her hair behind her ears and sighed. “Because you don’t have any servants.” 

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s easily mended. You’ve been threatening it for two days.” When she didn’t respond, he tapped her boot with his. “Don’t you want to find out first if we’re allowed to be married before you create a bleak future for us?” 

Morwen snapped out of her malaise. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What did Father say? Tell me everything.” 

“Well.” Thengel fell silent for an agonizing period of time. Then he looked at his hands and said, “Firstly, Amarthor expressed surprise that he and I had a very long correspondence dating back several years.” 

Morwen stared. “You didn’t tell him! Thengel, you know very well those letters came from me.” 

He leaned back with a grin, resting his hands comfortably on his stomach. “The scribbling in the margins did give it away.” 

“Scribbling? How dare you. It’s called illumination.” She gave him a wry look. “And thanks to Sadril and Gaeron, I happen to know that you think highly of my artwork — so you needn’t pretend otherwise.” 

Thengel grinned self-consciously. “The secret’s out.” 

“Yes. And I hope you’ll let me curate the gallery when the house is finished.” 

Thengel cringed. “Sadril told you everything?” 

“Yes.” Morwen gave him a pirate’s smile. “Do you know, I think she might be your real matchmaker?” 

Thengel blinked. “Why do you say that?” 

“Do you often drink raspberry leaf tea?” 

“I can’t say I’ve ever had the stuff.” 

“That confirms it.” Then Morwen sighed while Thengel looked puzzled. “Of course, that depends on what Father said. You’d better tell me and get it over with.” 

“I should tell you that he showed great interest in the information I gave him regarding the consumption of beaver.” Thengel paused to allow that to sink in. Then he said, “You see, I spent some time in the Archives the morning after we dined together and there’s no way either the meat or the fat could have been served at the feast hosted by Eldacar.” 

Morwen stared at Thengel, wondering when he had become possessed. 

He smiled pleasantly. “Allegedly, in Rhovanion under the reign of Ulfilas there was a ban on fish consumption at the new moon in order to bolster the sale of head cheese. The ban wasn’t rescinded until the reign of Audavicar…” 

Morwen broke out into a cold sweat during his recitation. “Stars! You didn’t tell Father that! Are you trying to send him catatonic?” 

Thengel bowed his head. “You’re right. I didn’t tell him that either. But I thought about it just in case he decided to become highhanded.” 

“Did he become highhanded?” 

Thengel fell silent again. He looked gravely at his boots. Morwen felt anxiety like a hard pit in her stomach. His expression did not look promising. She began to squirm as his silence drew out. She’d worried about her mother but it never occurred to her that her father would refuse a future king anything. 

“Thengel, I am going to die of suspense.” 

“Forgive me.” He rubbed his forehead. “I am trying to put into words what I’m feeling right now. You see, I didn’t truly expect to have to tell you this.” 

Morwen felt her heart plummet to her ankles. She snatched a decorative pillow that she’d embroidered years ago and covered her face with it. If it was bad news then she didn’t want Thengel to see her fall to pieces. She’d rather he saw her clumsy needlework. Then she lowered it so that just her eyes were showing because she wanted to see his face when he told her. 

“Tell me what?” she mumbled into the fabric. 

Thengel rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know how you did it but you succeeded in finding me a bride by the end of the week.” 

Morwen made a hoarse noise in her throat. 

He smiled slowly. “And you somehow got me to arrange a marriage negotiation months before I intended to initiate one.” 

“Thengel!” she cried, throwing the pillow at him. 

He batted it away before it could hit him but that left him vulnerable to a frontal assault as she fell into his arms. 

“Horrible man,” she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck as he pulled her onto his lap. “You really had me scared for a moment.” 

Thengel tweaked her hair. “Now you know how I feel whenever your evil genius takes over,” he teased. “My congratulations. I admit I wrongfully doubted you could pull it off.” 

“I never doubted myself for a moment,” she announced with her nose in the air. 

Thengel snorted at the blatant falsehood but deigned not to remind her that only yesterday she had proclaimed herself to be cursed and humbled by circumstance. 

Then Morwen frowned. “Just what do you mean that I forced you to arrange a marriage negotiation months before you planned to?” 

“I meant to wait until the house was finished to ask you to marry me. I counted on your family returning to Minas Tirith in the autumn as is your custom. So when you informed me at the reception that you wouldn’t be back for an entire year, I had to hasten the timeline. You see, my patience has its limits.” 

Morwen scoffed. “I find that hard to believe from the man who waited a year and a day to broach the subject of a courtship,” she retorted. 

“Impatience should be tempered by preparation,” Thengel replied gravely. 

“Another Rohirric proverb?” 

“I made it up,” he admitted. “You see, I went through a good deal of trouble to get you alone today. And do you know how hard it is to find good oranges this time of year?” 

She wrinkled her nose. “But how did you know you’d be able to ask me today? You didn’t know we’d be alone until I arrived at the stables.” 

“A wise man takes what fate offers him.” 

“And doesn’t give fate any credit — or me, for that matter.” Morwen gripped his face. “You had no idea Húnil wouldn’t come with us. I call that piggybacking off of my efforts.” 

Thengel grasped her hands and lowered them. “Who’s to say I didn’t have a similar plan to yours? With my years of field experience, it wouldn’t have taken long to lose Húnil,” he told her with a smugness that was unusual for him. “I was half-prepared to throw you over Baranroch and gallop off, if necessary.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t necessary.” Morwen shuddered at the thought. “And I’m glad you shook off complacency. Autumn is months away. What an irritatingly long wait that would have been.” She exhaled. “So Father didn’t send you packing?” 

“No.” Thengel winked at her. “It turns out he’s impressed with my future crown.” 

“He didn’t put up a fight at all?” Morwen shook her head. She almost wondered if her family were glad to get rid of her. 

“We’re talking of your father, not Gaeron,” Thengel reminded her. “He said everything needed to get me out of his library so that he could go back to his studies.” 

Morwen nodded. “Mother has accepted it too.” 

“Yes, I know. She put in a brief appearance to order your father to give his blessing at once and get it over with before supper’s served. For a couple who don’t enjoy surprises, they can be remarkably hasty about getting to the point.” 

Morwen laughed at that observation. “Mother’s afraid I’d run off with a tinker,” she enlightened him. “So she had motivation.” 

Then Thengel laughed. “That should be a weight off her mind then as you all travel home tomorrow.” 

“But I can’t leave tomorrow.” Morwen almost howled again, wondering what it would take to stay in the city. “We’re getting married.” 

“Not tomorrow,” he pointed out. “Anyway, technically, I’ve only asked your father if I can ask him to marry you.” 

Morwen blinked. “Excuse me?” 

“As I explained to Amarthor, a man doesn’t go empty-handed to ask another man for his daughter’s hand in marriage,” Thengel explained. “Our poets say, ‘One treasure deserves another; gold should be given away.’” 

Morwen folded her arms. “Don’t they also say, ‘Woe it is for the one who must wait in longing for the beloved’?”

Thengel smiled. “They do. But we’ve waited this long. Why not a little longer? We’ve had our one indiscretion —” 

“Three indiscretions if you count the reception and Gaeron leaving me at your house.” 

Thengel cleared his throat. “Fine. But I insist on everything else being done properly…which means I’ll need time to gather all the essential elements of a Rohirric marriage negotiation. Then the engagement will be official.” 

“What’s there to negotiate? Which shed Father will let us live in? I thought we settled that during the picnic.” 

He said dryly, “There’s the question of how wealthy you’ll be when I’m dead, for one thing.” 

Morwen blanched as if he’d dropped her into a frigid mountain spring.  

“And the wedding date,” he continued. “Your parents insisted on the Gondorian tradition.” 

“Oh.” That was usually a complicated affair that involved natal charts and transits. Then she asked, “When is this negotiation to take place?” 

Thengel made his arithmetic face. “Four weeks at best but six is more likely.” 

Morwen went pale. “Six weeks!” 

“Mon sceal... gebidan þæs he gebædan ne mæg.”

“I won’t pretend I understood any of that.” 

“One must wait for what cannot be hastened,” he recited. “It could take almost a week just for my letter to arrive in Edoras, depending on the roads…and you can depend on the mud in the Fenmarch. They’ll have to find someone to read and translate the letter once they receive it.” 

“I thought your family knew the Common Tongue.” 

“Passably,” he answered. “But only my faþu can read it well enough to translate and she lives up in Dunharrow.” 

“They won’t trust the courier to read it?” 

Thengel snorted. “Fengel will barely trust Folcswitha.” 

“His own sister?” 

“Folscwitha has three sons and Fengel has only one. He always feared she was waiting in the wings in case anything happened to either of us.” Thengel scoffed. “It’s the reason he gives for not riding out as First Marshal.” 

“He’s afraid she’d try to usurp the throne from both of you for her own sons?”

“To be fair,” Thengel added with a voice so dry it made her think of chipped paint, “He’s also afraid that I’ll usurp the throne instead of waiting for him to have the decency to die.” 

“Thengel!” 

“My aunt is in good company, you might say,” he finished wryly…and unrepentantly. “Once they can get Folcswitha to Edoras — by horse or by wheelbarrow — then it’ll take some time for the king’s household to assemble all the necessary people and things, which will be scattered. If Fengel allows every point of my letter to be carried out, then it may take as much as a fortnight for the whole party to arrive in Minas Tirith.”

“Will he carry out every point of your letter, do you think?” 

Thengel looked down for a moment and drew a circle on her arm. “Let me rephrase…if my sisters can carry out every point of my letter under my father’s nose…”

Mud and wheelbarrows and sneaking sisters. Morwen began to suspect that this would take the rest of their lives to accomplish a real, traditional Rohirric marriage negotiation from a long distance. They’d see the White Tree restored first. 

“Haste is best,’” she countered. “Wouldn’t it be faster to light the beacons?”  

Thengel’s mouth slanted at the thought. “I don’t believe that’s their intended use, my own one.” Then he said, “In better news, your father agreed to as short a betrothal as the heavens will allow…once I’ve proved to him that I’m not a pauper and you won’t be one either.” 

“What’s to prove? You were born in the Golden Hall.” 

“All that glitters is not gold. Amarthor wants more than thatch for the handgeld.” 

Amarthor and Gwereneth had plenty of gold of their own. And thatch could be useful. But Morwen knew her father wouldn’t budge on that point. She wouldn’t mind so much but for one thing. “They said I still have to leave tomorrow?” 

Thengel nodded. “Yes. Your parents thought it prudent after our shameless behavior this week.” 

Morwen exhaled sharply, “I told you there’d be a scandal.”

He grinned. “Only a little one. It pales next to Valacar’s marital rebellion.” 

Thank the stars for that. “What will you do when I’m gone?” 

“Enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet after what you’ve put me through.” 

Morwen looked askance. “What have I put you through?” 

Thengel’s expression turned vague. “Oh, a certain tedious meal comes to mind,” he drawled. “Then there’s your outlandish flirtation with Serion at the reception just to annoy me. And to crown it all, two days forcing me to pretend that I gave a warg’s right eye about Húnil’s murderous pets.” 

Morwen couldn’t deny a certain culpability in all that he described, so she simply said, “Well, I personally believe all that peace and quiet will bore you to distraction.” 

“We’ll agree to disagree, love,” he said, massaging his forehead. “Don’t forget I’m still creating a home for you. And then there’s the small matter of my duty to the Steward. Boredom might be a luxury.” 

Morwen’s heart sank again. “Pelargir?” 

“No. Ithilien.” Thengel looked to the east. “Bard’s ministers reported some goblin nests along their route south. I’ll be spending more time than ever with Ecthelion until he’s satisfied that the northern uplands are clear. My time will not be entirely my own before the wedding.” 

“Why do you have to go to clear out Ithilien?” 

“My sword still belongs in service to the Steward, Morwen,” he reminded her. “And because whatever we can accomplish to that end will relieve the burden on Rohan’s borders if the foul creatures get it into their heads to cross the river.” He gritted his teeth. “Orcs have ever been a plague on my sires’ line.” 

“More than the Dunlendings?” she asked. 

“Oh yes. The Dunlendings haven’t caused us serious alarm since Brytta’s day. Not with Isengard occupied by a wizard. But orcs? Many times our people have been kept from utter ruin by only a thread as events in the north have pushed the foul niht-genga south.” Thengel said bitterly, “Every time the Dwarves’ axes grow restless, the Rohirrim answer for it.” He stroked her arm. “You can see why this feels a little more personal than my other appointments.” 

Morwen nodded. “Yes, I do see.” Then she said, “Maybe I can come with you? I could stay in one of those secret caves Gaeron told me about.” 

“Don’t dream of it.” He added, “Gaeron shouldn’t have mentioned the bases. Even I am not permitted to enter them without a blindfold.” 

Morwen frowned. “You’ve told me stories about the shieldmaidens of Rohan. I still have that enormous pin from the wedding.” 

“I don’t doubt your courage but let’s be honest, Morwen. You should have started training years ago. Instead, you’ve grown into a well-bred — if somewhat impulsive — genteel, young lady who prefers to wield the pencil.”

Morwen wrinkled her nose and pushed away from him. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to myself be insulted.” 

Thengel rolled his eyes as he hooked her elbow. “Hold still. Only you would find that insulting.” 

She gave him a dour look, the kind she used to give him years ago as a gap-toothed waif whenever she measured him up and found him wanting — such as the times when he refused to use his royal status to help her pilfer from the kitchen. 

Thengel’s mouth slanted. “If we quarrel, Gaeron might get his own way in the end.” 

Morwen deflated under that light. “No, he mustn’t get his way. It wouldn’t be good for him,” she replied. Then she asked, “He’s still not home, is he?” 

“I haven’t seen him,” Thengel answered. “My guess is that he’s with Tathren after all.” 

“Then will you stay for supper?” 

“Perhaps.” Thengel shifted uncomfortably. “But if he comes home early, I’m not sure I’m prepared to see him again just yet.” 

Morwen didn’t blame Thengel a bit, but she wasn’t ready for him to leave either if they wouldn’t see one another for weeks. “Don’t think about what Gaeron said earlier.” 

Thengel smiled wanly. “I’ll try not to.” 

“Just think about how much I love you instead,” she said as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.  

“That is a good gift.” He held her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “And you have my love, always.” 

Morwen sighed contentedly. “And aren’t you grateful that the most difficult hurdle is behind us? After Gaeron and my parents, everything should be downhill from here.” 

Doubt flashed in his eyes. “Don’t tempt the Powers, Morwen. Remember that I still have to inform Fengel’s council.” 

It seemed to Morwen to present a small obstacle. Everything favored her candidacy. Her connections to one of the most powerful families in the country. Her immediate family’s own position in society. Amarthor’s deep pockets and vast estate. Gaeron’s rank in Gondor’s armies. And no one could complain about her being too old. Not a single material objection could be raised on Thengel’s side of the family. They only had to wait for Thengel’s request to be answered. 

Morwen waved away Thengel’s concern. “I expect Fengel’s council will only complain that you’ve dragged your feet in choosing a bride.” 

Thengel winced. “Yes. But it doesn’t follow that they’ll be cheerful now that I have.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because Fengel won’t be cheerful. He never is where it concerns me,” Thengel explained. “For one thing, he’ll be unhappily reminded that I’m alive somewhere over the mountains. And when he’s unhappy, everyone’s unhappy. In fact, they’re also unhappy when he is happy…usually because he’s happy at the expense of others.” 

Morwen felt the beginning of a headache. “Never mind Fengel. Let’s focus on something more pleasant. For example, you wouldn’t perchance consider crawling in through my window tonight?” 

Thengel choked on a laugh. “The keyholes in my house left nothing to the imagination, did they?” 

Morwen shook her head.  “I’m intrigued by your idea for an abduction. Very modern. Then I won’t have to go off to Lossarnach after all.”

Thengel grinned slowly. “Carrying you all the way up to my attic isn’t how I intended to prove my youth, Morwen.” 

She laughed. “Maybe I’ll carry you?” 

“You’d be better served by getting a good night’s rest before your journey,” he said, gently looping a strand of her hair around his finger. “And I’ll be better served by hastening the completion of the house so that neither of us breaks a neck climbing so many flights of stairs.”

Later after Thengel left for the night, Morwen ferreted out her father’s almanac. It provided one consolation by prophesying a dry summer. Such weather wouldn’t please her father, his foreman, or his tenants. But it promised sound roads and swift travel. Thengel would be with her in Lossarnach sooner rather than later with felicitations from the Mark.