Springs storms rolled in, putting a halt to any plans for a contest between Prince Thengel and Halmir. But with the rain, the plantation dogs started to come back home. They all looked waterlogged and covered in brambles, but remarkably well fed. Morwen suspected the valley folk had something to do with the latter condition. She felt oddly reassured by their return as if things were inevitably traveling back toward normalcy again.
But it was a false assurance.
She never saw Thengel in the house after their argument. He avoided her the next day and she made it easy for him. He always managed to slip out before her and come in after dark. When Morwen cornered Wynflaed coming in one night, the shieldmaiden claimed they were having sparing practice to pass the time.
On the second day, Morwen spent much of her time with Axantur at the hall table, describing her experience with Halmir over the past weeks. By dinner time, her head ached from repeating everything - sometimes three or four times - to him as he took notes and made amendments.
She had to squelch moments of guilt whenever Axantur started signing or mumbling over a particular memory. Daeron and Halmir put themselves in this position, not she. The testimony might prove useful, especially now that Lord Daeron's young advisor had witnessed the situation himself. After all, she hadn't been the only one cheated by her cousin, and as foolish as Lord Daeron had been to trust his friend, she thought he deserved a little footing to recoup his losses, if possible. Or perhaps she only wanted him to understand how very little she had been involved in spending his money.
Wynflaed returned to the house dripping wet, covered head to toe in mud, and grinning hugely. Morwen turned away from her conversation to discover the reason for this exuberance. In Wynflaed, she found it less than assuring.
"What happened to you?" Morwen asked.
Wynflaed glanced down at the bloody patches on her knees where her riding breeches were torn and caked with mud. She looked natural, Morwen thought, which made her wonder what their mother must be like.
Wynflaed sniffed and then wiped her nose on her sleeve. "The ground's too mucky with all this rain. I slipped in the mud and Thengel got me. Cenhelm suggested we use the barn from now on." She shrugged. "I don't know if I should feel embarrassed or not. Thengel's footing's better than mine, but I bet I could beat him on horseback in a trice." Morwen shuddered to hear her talk so casually about fighting. "But we'll hold the duel as soon as the ground dries out some. I'd prefer the top of the orchard where the sward is. That Hundor scab doesn't seem to care much either way. When will the rain stop?"
"Soon, I expect." Morwen frowned. "I had hoped rather that with all this rain you'd talk him out of fighting."
Wynflaed gave her such a look of such scorn that Morwen blushed. "Are you daft? He can't back out now without losing face."
Even Axantur looked askance and Morwen had to accept that events would go as they would.
…
The rain brought other disruptions, but this time for Halmir. Gundor called Morwen to the hall door on the third day of storms to witness a peculiar event. Something of a civil war had erupted among the Arnach men between those who were fed up with being wet and hungry and those who were determined to stick it out until they were certain that they wouldn't profit from Halmir's success. A handful had started throwing punches at one another and rolling in the mud. Morwen and Gundor had stuck their heads out between the doors until Beldir sensibly, if not gruffly, reminded them it was safer to watch from a window and bar the doors.
Some of the men managed to extricate themselves from the mob and limp off toward the greenway, followed by slurs and accusations and threats. Morwen felt her heart lift at the sight, even if she did feel a little afraid of the violence. If his men couldn't hold out, perhaps Halmir himself would acknowledge that his plans were unraveling.
"If the rain keeps, maybe they'll all go," she hoped. "That must have been a dozen."
"That won't stop Prince Thengel from poking holes in Halmir's guts," Beldir reminded her.
Her heart dropped back around her ankles. "Or the other way around," she answered.
…
On the fourth day since Gladhon rode to Arnach, the storms passed. When Wynflaed brought her the good news that the next day had been fixed upon for the duel, Morwen decided Thengel would have to speak to her.
She found him alone in the horse barn. Dried mud covered Thengel from his feet up to his shins. Clumps of horse hair had dried to the mud and Morwen couldn't help contrasting this prince to her cousin Adrahil, who always seemed dressed for state and left something as menial as grooming to, well, the groom. The gossiping groom. Fleetingly, she wondered if Adrahil had recovered from his angst over the Steward's interference. She still owed him an apology, but she planned to wait till the fatal day so she could write all her news at once.
Rochagar stood tethered to a post while Thengel brushed him. The stallion angled his neck as he studied the newcomer in the aisle with dark, liquid eyes. Absentmindedly Thengel reached out to rub his gray muzzle. She leaned against a stall door to watch Thengel pick hair from the comb, then continue his work with wide strokes along the stallion's flank. Rochagar's head began to droop as the grooming relaxed him again.
As Morwen considered how best to break the silence, Thengel did it for her.
"When were you going to tell me about Guthere and your cook?"
So he still felt angry with her, Morwen sighed inwardly. Well, if he was, she didn't believe for a moment that Guthere's surprise made the top of his reasons.
"Eventually," she answered. "Oswin knows."
Thengel shot her a black look over his shoulder. "You talked to Oswin about my men? Do you hold council meetings with him too?"
Morwen felt stung by the accusation in his voice. She took a deep breath to calm herself before replying. Having a rational conversation with Thengel felt a lot harder when he started out already swinging. And this wasn't her chosen topic, either.
"I talked to him about one man and only once. If you recall, there's a lot more going on in the valley than a little romance."
"Hm!"
"Oswin asked me about Guthere's progress, so I took the opportunity to find out if Hareth's going to have her heart broken."
"What?" he snapped.
"Thengel," she groused, "they care for one another. Can't you see she'll be disappointed if Guthere has to return to Rohan after his service to you? Better to tell her straight out that nothing can come of it."
"Something has come of it," he said, cutting the air with his hand. "With no small amount of thanks to your bedeviled painter."
"Teitherion isn't my painter and it's hardly his fault." Morwen tucked her hair behind her ear. "Honestly, I don't see how Hareth and Guthere could help liking one another, either, even if Guthere knew he'd have to return home."
"What does it matter if he has to return to Rohan? If she loves him, what's stopping her from going with?"
"Well…" Morwen broke off and bit her lip. "I guess I hadn't thought of that. It wouldn't be very convenient to me."
Thengel shook his head, then snorted.
"Do you think she would like it there?"
"Sure. Who wouldn't?" he muttered. Then, curious despite himself, he asked, "What did Oswin say?"
Morwen shrugged. "He said he'd never heard of such a thing happening before, that's all. They might start a precedent."
Thengel snorted again. He chose a new brush and started over on Rochagar's back. But the stallion sidled and tugged against the tie, picking up on his master's mood. Thengel had to give up with the brush to calm the horse before he could resume again. Morwen could see his own temper straining against whatever will he used to keep it in check, not terribly grateful to Rochagar for revealing just how ruffled he felt.
It gave Morwen courage, however, even if she had to keep speaking to his back.
"When I left home, I could see they enjoyed each other's company," she explained, "but I didn't know they'd make up their minds so quickly. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. To be fair, you haven't always been forthcoming with me either, Thunor."
There. Morwen finally touched on the real reason for seeking him out. She could tell he knew it by the way his shoulders bunched.
"You paid me out for that one already."
"Not quite," she muttered. "I missed by half an inch."
"You didn't miss. I ducked."
True. Morwen had good aim. The local squirrels could attest to it. She hadn't expected him to notice or admit it. Something in the way he said it pulled at her heart, as if he wanted to go on being irritated with her, but couldn't allow his irritation to keep him from giving her full due, even for something as trifling as that.
But she couldn't explain his prolonged anger. Morwen wished he would turn around and speak to her the way he had always done, kindly and with a little humor. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel connected to him again. It felt wrong for them to be at odds with one another. She knew he still felt angry that she disagreed with him about the duel. How could he expect her to be happy that he'd put himself in danger for a problem that should never have involved him in the first place? She could relent, tell him that she thought he'd chosen right, but it wouldn't be the truth. And if they weren't honest with one another, their whole friendship would unravel. She hoped he wouldn't expect her to blindly agree with him all the time. That would invite a lot of disappointment on his side!
Morwen sensed another layer, a reason she couldn't understand for his displeasure. She thought it might have to do with the disguise, something she wasn't understanding.
"Thengel, will you answer one question before you meet Halmir tomorrow?"
He sighed. "What is it?"
Morwen tried to ignore his tone and keep her own voice even. "You aren't fighting him just because of this disguise you've given yourself, are you?"
He didn't turn around to answer her and she felt the back of her eyes begin to burn as the silence prolonged like a shadow across the space between them.
"No," he answered eventually. "I'm done with disguises."
Her heart thumped in her chest. "What does that mean?"
The brush stilled. "You said one question."
"Thengel," she murmured.
He did turn around then, keeping one hand anchored to Rochagar's haunch. The expression on his face was softer, but not what she would call open. "It means I'm buying you time like you asked me to until Ferneth arrives, using the method we discussed, but that the reasons for satisfaction are real."
"Those reasons are…?"
He turned his back on her again. "My own."
Morwen stared daggers into the back of his head. This was hardly the time to be enigmatic! "I wish I had something to throw at you, just now," she said, thinking of the horn. Irritating, stiff-necked egotist, maybe it would just knock some sense into him.
"That would certainly give Halmir an advantage," he answered as he resumed his work.
"Ugh." Morwen slipped away from the stable shortly after that, her blood pounding in her ears.
…
Morwen left the empty house on the morning of the duel with Axantur by her side, a feeling of grim determination hanging over her. The property surrounding the house had an abandoned feel with all the household and the Arnach men already in the orchard. She wondered how her home would feel after this morning.
Axantur took a deep breath of fresh air. "It's a beautiful morning for a…" Morwen glanced at him and he stumbled. "A bit of outdoor sport. Quite warm and clear," he remarked as they walked under the beeches.
Yes, the sun shone with oblivious cheer as it climbed over the eastern ridge. Morwen squinted at it briefly through the trees before dropping her blotched gaze back to the earth.
"If you say so," she replied.
"Granted, I don't start the day like this normally. The fashion in Minas Tirith is to fight a man with words and the law, not with swords. Save those for the Haradrim, eh?"
"I couldn't say."
"Got a lot of birds in these parts, haven't you."
Why did he insist on talking? For a lord's advisor he seemed to rattle on more than necessary, particularly when she didn't wish to speak. And yet, the birds did seem bent on full-throated singing, rejoicing in the breeze from the south carrying the promise of the approaching summer. It reminded her of a song she used to hear her mother singing in the orchard.
When they reached the hilltop, she saw that the valley folk had filled the sward on one side while Halmir's supporters filled the other. She lingered on the edge between the dark tree stumps and the grass, feeling uncertain of her place. The uniqueness of her position at the duel had impressed itself on everyone there, particularly in the minds of those who had received first hand intelligence from Midhel and Nanneth just days before. She felt their curiosity and the temptation to keep walking felt strong. She imagined climbing right out the orchard door to the other side, right up to Anorian's well and then she'd jump.
Well, perhaps she wouldn't jump. She didn't like pain any more than she liked embarrassment. Morwen decided to think of today as a mere extension of Lossemeren. She would take her place as the lady of the house and remember to keep her eyes fixed at a point over people's heads, so they wouldn't know she wasn't looking at them. If she didn't feel confident, she would pretend to feel confident.
She hoped.
"What should I do now?" she whispered to Axantur.
"Well, mainly you're just here to look pretty and wistful and remind everybody that you're the injured party…" Axantur missed the black look she shot him. Wistful! "…but it wouldn't hurt for you to wish your champion luck before we proceed."
"It might," Morwen muttered.
She hadn't positively ruled out knocking Thengel over the head and dragging him to safety till the whole thing blew over. Wynflaed would let her, too. Maybe. If the shieldmaiden didn't realize first that it would stop the duel. Cenhelm presented the only snag as she'd probably have to take him out first to get to Thengel. Morwen doubted she'd succeed at the same thing twice.
Axantur walked on to meet with the two contenders and she followed to the place where a set of stones marked the bounds. On one end, Thengel stood very still and straight, flanked by Cenhelm and Wynflaed, who were speaking to him. Only his eyes moved, watching Halmir pace on the other end of the field.
Halmir's face looked red and blotchy as if he had already fought a duel and had to return again for this one. He stopped once or twice to bark something at a knot of his men grouped on the outer side of the ring. When he saw Morwen and Axantur approaching, he finally stilled and the blood drained from his face. For a reason she couldn't fathom, his nerves only increased hers. She didn't feel afraid for him, but she felt afraid. Morwen walked faster, the sooner to pass Halmir by, leaving Axantur behind to speak with her cousin alone.
When she approached Thengel, he eyed her warily, as if he had read her earlier thoughts and suspected her of sudden and blunt-forced interference. Cenhelm and Wynflaed fell silent. She stood before them and felt at a loss for words. What did one say? Good morning? Have a nice fight?
Wynflaed spoke first. "There's been a change," she murmured. "The scab ran off in the night. Halmir has to choose a new second, only nobody seems too keen."
"Hundor's gone?" Morwen gasped. "When did you find this out?"
Wynflaed shrugged. "A little before you arrived. Halmir's men have been looking for him, to no purpose. The money's gone too."
Daeron's money!
"Coincidence?" Morwen asked after a stunned pause. Perhaps the money had disappeared earlier than they realized with the first deserters. The fact that Halmir hadn't been robbed before this point amazed her, since he insisted on bragging about the sum. Would Hundor stoop so low as to desert his brother and rob him to boot?
"I doubt it."
Wynflaed's news made her feel suddenly light. If Hundor ran off and took the money, she knew they wouldn't see him again for quite some time. Without the money, Halmir could do little more to her or to the orchard. What friends would be so generous to him a second time and with the testimony she had given to Axantur?
"Then Halmir's already lost," she breathed.
"Not exactly," Wynflaed said grimly. "The challenge has been issued and they have to follow through. It simply means he has nothing to lose."
"Or something to gain if he wins," Cenhelm supplied grimly, "which is justification."
Morwen felt dizzy as her relief drained away. If Wynflaed and Cenhelm were correct, wouldn't that make Halmir more desperate...and therefore, more dangerous?
"No fear," Thengel murmured, surprising her.
Morwen looked him in the eyes and wished he would feel fear. Too much confidence could be as dangerous as too little. Oh, Wynflaed could go over each opponent's statistics and tell her point for point why Thengel made the superior specimen here, but until someone yielded she would never feel secure of victory. She wished he wouldn't take it for granted.
Axantur approached their circle and bowed to the prince. As the most neutral of the guests at Bar-en-Ferin and the only other man with any standing in the valley, he had been appointed to serve as a sort of official witness or conduit between the seconds. Morwen didn't know all the intricacies involved in the spectacle even after Wynflaed tried to explain it to her, but that's how she understood his role. She wondered how neutral he would be once he learned his lord's investment had scarpered, wasted in the pocket of a thief.
"Lady Morwen, I think we had better get started. Halmir has a replacement second, so we can proceed. If you'd just step over the boundary please."
Impulsively, Morwen reached for Thengel's arm. "Good luck."
A titter ran through the crowd when she touched him and Morwen stalked out of the square with a blush on her cheeks. She found her place among the tree stumps, away from the her neighbors. Wynflaed and Halmir's second met in the middle of the ring after consulting separately with Axantur about the quality of the grounds.
Cenhelm joined her, though his guards had mingled in with the valley folk and her household on the other side of the sward. She felt grateful for his presence now that he wasn't playing her nursemaid. And it surprised her. After his conversation with Wynflaed the night Thengel initiated the duel, he had also seemed to avoid her and she thought he blamed her for the prince's challenge.
"What are they discussing?" she asked, as the conversation lengthened.
"They're quibbling over the terms of satisfaction." When she gave him a blank look, he continued. "According to Prince Thengel's challenge, the duel ends when one of the opponents yields. Halmir's second is arguing that the duel should end at first blood, but not a mortal wound."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he probably knows his chance of succeeding are better if he can scratch the prince early in the fight than it will be holding out against him until one of them has to give up."
"But couldn't Thengel do the same? Scratch him early, I mean."
Cenhelm shrugged. "Yes."
"So why wouldn't Thengel agree to that and finish it quickly with fewer risks?"
"Because I imagine he wants the pleasure of issuing as many scratches and bruises as he can, since he believes you won't tolerate him spitting Lord Halmir in a trice."
Morwen blinked. "Well…" she didn't know what to say to that. Giving Thengel the chance to spit Halmir would also open the opportunity to Halmir to do the same.
"Call me a coward, if you like," she replied, "but I wouldn't want the prince to have his way if his way would put him in danger - more danger, that is."
Cenhelm surprised her by saying, "I completely comprehend you, my lady." Their eyes met and he looked solemn. "I wish we had avoided this contest altogether. You and I are the ones who would answer for it if Halmir succeeded."
"I know," she said. "But that's not the reason I wish it wasn't happening."
Cenhelm scratched his cheek through his beard. "No. I expect it isn't."
As Axantur quizzed the seconds, Morwen's attention wandered. She noticed Teitherion sketching nearby, his hand moving at a dizzying speed. She left Cenhelm to approach Teitherion. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw the rough outlines of two combatants facing one another across the paper. "Teitherion…"
"Confound it!" He jumped, scratching a line across the paper that cut Thengel's likeness in two. Morwen felt her stomach clench. "Oh, it's you, Lady Morwen."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He pulled out a brown, gummy lump from his bag and began rolling it across the paper. The lines disappeared, leaving only a rough score where his pencil had slipped.
"Capturing history, of course."
"History?" She gave him an odd look.
"Certainly. You see, this is not my first painting of your noble lover's—"
"Teitherion!"
"…archives. He'll have to show you some time. And I thought you might like a memento to remember the day your champion thrashed your persecutor. Something to show the grandchildren, you know."
Grandchildren!
"Now see here, Teitherion—"
Axantur gestured for both Thengel and Halmir to step nearer to the center. The crowd fell silent as he dismissed the seconds, speaking briefly to the fighters, though they were not permitted to speak to one another. Then he measure their swords, the one Thengel brought from Minas Tirith and another blade Halmir had had to borrow from one of the Arnach men. Thengel removed the accompanying sheath and gave it to Cenhelm along with his shirt before accepting his blade back. Halmir chose to keep his shirt, but had been forced to give up a small knife found on his belt.
Halmir's men murmured among themselves, taking their measures and bidding on who the victor would be. Of the opponents, Halmir had the advantage in height, though Thengel boasted the wider frame of his ancestors and more muscle memory for this kind of exercise. Her cousin cut the more dashing figure, even with his curls flattened by days of wet camping and the nervous tick in his shoulders. Morwen thought his eyes roved over the crowd a little too obsessively, as if he too still sought Hundor…or an easy escape route.
Morwen felt as if a sickness had entered her bones. The feeling exuded upward and outward from deep within. It twisted her stomach.
She pitied Halmir.
He had harmed her and deserved nothing but her hate. Yet, horrible as he had been, despite what he deserved, he had to face a superior opponent, abandoned and betrayed by his own brother. Hardang's death had reduced his brothers to this and she felt sorry for it.
Briefly her eyes met Halmir's as if he could feel her pity, and a wave of venomous hate struck her. Halmir turned his back and said something cutting to Axantur. She couldn't quite make it out, but the tone gave her hints.
At last, Axantur stepped outside the stone boundary, followed by Wynflaed, Cenhelm, and Halmir's man. Cenhelm joined her again after he'd played his brief role in the spectacle, the prince's shirt draped over his arm like a towel and the sheath lying at his feet.
A thought struck her. "Cenhelm, why doesn't Thengel wear his leather armor?"
"Because Lord Halmir doesn't have any and it would give Prince Thengel an unfair advantage."
So that was the sort of thing Wynflaed and Hundor had had to agree on, she guessed, before he ran off.
The duel opened with a salute at Thengel's prompting. He led the attack as the opponent requiring satisfaction. Halmir warded off the first thrust. They circled, guarded, drew lines in the dew-drenched grass as their feet fairly danced into lunges. Morwen couldn't allow herself to blink while they delivered a series of quick strokes. They disengaged, circled, exchanged again.
Wynflaed stepped away from the lines with a cold, analytical expression on her face as she studied the contest. Morwen didn't doubt the shieldmaiden would have a list of criticism prepared for her brother when the fight ended. And she would deliver it to him, regardless of the outcome.
Morwen soon lost track of the advances, counter attacks, disengagements. Her ears ached with the snick-and-sizzle of steel on steel. Halmir wasn't terrible, but it became clear his knowledge of swordsmanship was mostly theoretical. He rarely initiated an attack, and offered counter strokes like a man ticking off a checklist. But he moved lightly on his feet and he could dodge most of Thengel's strokes. This allowed Halmir to avoid being driven backward if Thengel leaned heavily on his guard, which would force him to give ground or break his stance.
She swallowed back a gasp when Halmir's blade locked with Thengel's cross-guard at the same time the prince's foot skidded on the dew. Thengel stumbled; Halmir sliced at him, but the prince managed to angle his wrist in time to avert the majority of the thrust. Still, the blade found a mark as it slid up the cross-guard.
Murmurs erupted from the valley folk, and a few groans, as a line cut across Thengel's arm near the ball of his shoulder. First blood. Halmir vibrated with growing confidence. He grinned for the first time that morning.
Morwen pressed her hand to her mouth as bile rose in her throat when the cut began to overflow. With the other hand, she had reached out and found Cenhelm's arm. He patted her hand sympathetically.
Wynflaed leaned around Cenhelm and said, "You always give a lesser opponent first blood. It gives them confidence, which makes the fight more entertaining."
Morwen stared at her, certain Wynflaed made that up for her benefit. She did not feel particularly grateful either.
Wynflaed shrugged. "I didn't want you to think Thengel had performed poorly. You look nervous."
"I'm not nervous," Morwen countered, but she didn't let go of Cenhelm's arm.
Morwen focused on the fight again. As their footing improved with the drying dew, the speed of the exchanges increased. Halmir grew bolder, leading an attack rather than waiting for Thengel to come to him. But always he barely followed through with a stroke before dancing away.
It felt like a life age before they disengaged once more, each catching his breath. Prince Thengel's hair stuck to the side of his face and a wide line of sweat had darkened the back of Halmir's shirt. Thengel glanced briefly at his cut shoulder. One of Halmir's thrusts had wrenched his arm and caused the blood to flow freely downward and drip from his elbow. Halmir tried to use the few seconds to his advantage. Thengel had to give up a few paces of ground, expending more energy, but he eventually warded Halmir off.
"Nature intended you for the sword, I think," Thengel mused as they circled one another again. "You're light on your feet, possess adequate arm length and force. No, you would be wasted in Ithilien with its archers and axemen. You're for Pelargir — eh — and pirates."
Halmir growled and led the attack. They said nothing else as each exchange demanded their breath as well as their thought. Thengel managed to get past Halmir's cross-guard and tap his wrist with the flat of his blade. The move surprised Halmir and his sword arced through the air, landing to Thengel's left.
The crowd erupted with a collective, "Ooh!"
"Is it over?" Morwen whispered to Cenhelm.
The guard pursed his lips, then shook his head. The prince had stepped back, lowering his sword as he allowed Halmir a moment to dive for the fallen weapon.
Halmir sliced wildly at the air between himself and the prince once he got his sword into his hands again, trusting that the prince would take advantage of the dropped weapon. But Thengel gave him a jaundiced frown, as if Halmir's distrust cast a poor reflection on the prince's honor. There were rules of combat, but Halmir had never been a man to worry about rules and couldn't countenance that anyone else would either. Thengel seemed to smell it like a foul stench.
They resumed circling one another, hazarding a thrust, being deflected, advancing and fading. Neither seemed willing to dive in after the other, Morwen thought. She half-hoped they would decide to call a truce out of boredom. Only belatedly did she realize that what she considered a conservative attack had been deliberate.
Gradually, Thengel had lulled Halmir into widening his guard. The crowd gasped when Thengel suddenly drove his point home. Barely a scratch, but blood bloomed on Halmir's tunic just below his ribcage before Halmir could ward off Thengel's weapon.
Halmir glanced down insensibly, blinking at the blood as if it were only a wine spill. Taking advantage of his opponent's distraction, Thengel lunged again, forcing Halmir to scramble to block the blade, all the while giving ground. Though Halmir didn't fall, Thengel had shaken him.
The blood had a formative effect on Thengel too. The prince transfigured from a man to a lion, fueling his limbs with wrath where he had been circumspect before. The hotspur drove the blade against Halmir's like a blacksmith using the other man as an anvil, not giving his opponent so much as a breath to regain his position, until at last Thengel had driven him beyond the artificial boundary. Halmir stumbled over the back of a tree stump, landing with a painful wrench to his knee. The sword landed on the grass beside him. He reached for it, swinging it blindly at Thengel, who quickly deflected the blow and kicked Halmir in the stomach.
Halmir fell on his back and scuttled backward, but not before Thengel's blade found a home, the flat edge snugged in the crook between Halmir's throat and shoulder. Halmir's fingers scrabbled blindly for the hilt of his sword. His fingertips brushed the metal hilt just before Thengel's boot crushed Halmir's wrist into the dirt. Morwen felt it in her own wrist where the bruises had faded yellow.
Halmir's chest heaved for want of breath. Unable to retrieve his weapon in defense, his arms lay nerveless at his side.
When her peripheral vision began to cloud, Morwen realized she'd held her breath. She exhaled, wanting to ask Cenhelm if now the fight had ended, but she couldn't speak.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Thurstan and Guthere had left their places among the valley folk and had wended their way to her side of the field. The better to intercede?
"Mend your ways, worm," Thengel said at last. "If rumor reaches me that you've used this hand to harm another woman, I'll remove it for you. Do you yield?"
Halmir's eyes roved around the sward where his men stood, his thoughts shown plainly on his face. He could call the others down on Thengel, one man against nearly three score, give or take. Would Thengel survive with those odds waiting for him?
Yes.
Because even Morwen knew that Halmir couldn't call down his men to avenge him against the crown prince of Rohan. Even if he survived a fight against this Fengling, Halmir wouldn't survive the political fallout. Halmir trembled under the pressure of Thengel's sword against his throat and the pressure on his wrist. Something caught Thengel's eye and the tip of the sword traced a thin, fading scar. Wynflaed's keepsake.
"What's this?" Thengel queried as he applied pressure.
"Yield! I yield," Halmir squeaked before Thengel could split his throat like sausage casing.
Thengel regarded this opponent with grave repugnance, drawing out the moment of decision as Halmir squirmed in the dirt. Axantur stepped forward in case Thengel decided to rewrite the rules of engagement. It would be as simple matter to pin this worm to the ground, after all.
"Prince Thengel, he yielded. Stand down."
At last, Thengel raised his sword on inch above Halmir's shoulder. Close enough so that the imp would remember to fear it. Then he lifted his boot so that Halmir could extricate his limb.
"Go home, lordling, to whatever punishment Lady Ferneth deems necessary for one guilty of destruction, trespassing, and defamation. Take Hardang's men with you," Thengel said for all to hear. "They have better uses. A wiser lord than you would know that."
Halmir scooted away quickly, distancing himself from the victor. He spit once. "You aren't Lord of Loss—ugh." He stopped snarling to pick his misplaced hair out of his mouth. "Lossarnach!"
Thengel's lips curled back, showing teeth. It was an unnerving sight.
Halmir bristled beneath the prince's mockery, causing him to forget that he was ass first in the grass and that Thengel still had his sword in hand.
"If Morwen takes you, she's a fool. You can't stay in this valley forever," he shouted. "One day I'll take what I came for!"
Prudence was not one of Halmir's strong suits. But then, neither was it the prince's. Thengel gave him a cavalier nod.
"I accept your challenge, little man," he said with leaden irony, saluting Halmir with his sword. "But you may find that what you came for is a taste of cold steel."
Guthere snorted. "There's a double meaning in that," he muttered to Thurstan, though loudly enough for all to hear. "Steelsheen…get it?"
Thurstan rolled his eyes.
…
"It's over, Lady Morwen."
Morwen could hardly believe it. Cenhelm glanced down at his arm, which she still grasped.
"Are you well, my lady?" he murmured discretely amid the men who had packed in closely during the fight.
Morwen nodded slowly, as if in a dream. "Go to him, please. His arm is hurt, remember?" She couldn't seem to find any use for her own legs and thought it better to send his guard.
Cenhelm did as she asked. He needed to return the sheath and the tunic. Wynflaed went with him, already aching to broadcasting her list of criticisms.
No one dared approach Halmir. He picked himself up off the ground as soon as Thengel turned his back to retrieve his tunic, which the prince wadded up and pressed against his shoulder. Without the immediate threat of steel, Halmir grew reckless again.
"Prince Thengel!" he began.
Thengel glanced over. "What, are you still here?" he growled. "I told you to go home."
"You've had your satisfaction," Halmir spat. "But you cannot remove me from Bar-en-Ferin. As Forlong's regent—"
"Forlong's regent is here, Halmir," said a voice from the trees.
Morwen turned on her heels as she recognized the voice. Catching her movement, Thengel did the same. Their eyes met briefly and she nodded at the unspoken question. The Lady of Lossarnach had arrived.
The crowd parted around Ferneth. Halmir spun on his heels toward the voice with a look of madness in his eyes as Ferneth, dressed in deep mourning, sailed toward him over the grass like a black swan. She carried a bundle in her arms, and though she looked pale and careworn, she held herself proudly and her eyes cast a wide net over the company. Gladhon followed behind her. He lifted his hand in greeting when he spotted his comrades.
"Ferneth," Halmir sputtered. "What are you doing here?"
"Dismantling your ambition," she replied with something like relish. "Behold, my army, Halmir. It is small, but you'll find it's furious — not unlike me at the moment."
The orchard echoed with the tramp of many feet. At least a score of women were making their way toward the sward, some as young as Morwen who were clutching babies to their breasts or else leading small children with them, others much older, helping one another hobble over the stumps. As they drew closer, the women began to spot familiar faces among Halmir's men. A cacophony of voices rose from them.
"Is this where you've been all these weeks?"
"I've been at home with our children all by myself while you've been—"
"Camping!"
"Idle!"
"There's corn to sow! Who's going to do that?"
"You great bully! Shame on you."
"Your father would spin in his grave if he knew you left your old mother."
Morwen watched in wonder as Ferneth's army blended into Halmir's and proceeded to giving them all a browbeating. One old mother looked to be taking her displeasure out on her son with a laundry paddle. The false soldiers who Halmir had picked, alarmed to be met by their wives and mothers, sisters, and neighbors, began to fall away.
Ferneth raised her arm and the chatter instantly died. "Hold a moment, women of Arnach. There is still some business to attend to. Halmir, I'm very annoyed with you." She looked around the negative space where the apple trees had been carved out at Halmir's insistence and she swallowed hard. "So, the letters were true. This is how you chose to honor your aunt and uncle's memories."
She gestured to two men who had also accompanied her. "There he is, gentlemen. Bring him."
"The watch!" Halmir growled. "How dare you set them on me."
"As far as I can see you're a criminal, Halmir, lord or no. That's what the watch is for."
"You have no authority to arrest me. You're nothing but a woman!"
The guards hesitated.
Ferneth laughed, a cold cracking sound. "Which makes me more than a man and better fit to steward my son's interests, as the lady of this fief. You will find that I can back that up with Hardang's will, if you'd bothered to read past the point where he left you next to nothing." She added, "Now, stand down. You're making yourself ridiculous."
Halmir gave her such a look of contempt that unless she had a dragon's hide, it was a wonder she did not wither beneath it. But she brushed past him to cross the sward as if he were already forgotten. However, the bailiffs held back, uncertain if they should really lay their hands on one of the lords of Lossarnach.
"What is this to-do?" she asked of the assembly.
Midhel bowed. "A contest between Prince Thengel and Lord Halmir for the hand of Morwen, my lady."
Morwen cringed at the obvious omission of the less tantalizing reasons for the duel. Leave it to Midhel to try to spin it into something romantic! She suspected that Teitherion had Midhel in league.
"I see." Ferneth arched a brow, surveying the spectacle with increasing interest. "And I believe, if Halmir's ill temper is a clue, that Prince Thengel is the champion?"
She gestured for Morwen and Thengel to attend her. "Come here, both of you."
Thengel didn't quite look Morwen in the eye as they approached Ferneth from opposite directions.
"Present your champion to me," Ferneth said to her younger cousin. It was Morwen's turn to bear the weight of her kinswoman's scrutiny.
"Ferneth, this is Prince Thengel of Rohan," she said solemnly.
Thengel came forward, his sword still in one hand and his shirt in the other. He draped the latter over his shoulder, pressing his hand to his heart. He bowed his head. "Lady Ferneth."
"Prince Thengel, you have, according to the contest, won the hand of my kinswoman, I believe," she said grandly. "Take your rightful due."
"But—" Halmir shouted. He winced and clutched his seeping shoulder.
"Shut up, Halmir. Haven't you been arrested yet?" Ferneth retorted over her shoulder. Then she relaxed and gave a solemn smile to the prince. "Now, Prince Thengel, take Morwen's hand."
"I do take it," said Thengel, grasping Morwen's hand after he'd switched the sword to his left.
She looked at the appendage held out before her with a strange, detached feeling as if the limb belonged to someone else. The world seemed to narrow in on itself. Then she felt herself listing.
"Breathe, Steelsheen," Thengel murmured.
She took a deep breath and her vision widened again and she felt herself reviving. Events were unfolding far too quickly for her.
"Well?" Ferneth urged. "What do you say, Morwen?"
Morwen gave Ferneth a look of alarm. Was she supposed to give an acceptance speech? She couldn't think straight!
As Thengel stood there with her hand dwarfed in his, she thought he might kiss it again. But he surprised her by turning her palm upward and folding her fingers into a fist, closed and small like a stone.
"I do take it and now I give it back," Thengel said quietly. He let go. "Lady Ferneth, I claim nothing."
What had he said? Nothing?
Nothing!
Had he given her a gift or an insult?
Morwen's arm remained extended in the space between them as she stared at her fist, hardly knowing what to think or do. She cradled her hand against her chest.
He would never try to trap her, he had once promised. Morwen decided then that it must be a gift. In his convoluted way, he'd given her back everything.
And in that instant, her heart seemed to open to him.
Ferneth looked puzzled as well, but then she smiled. "Very well. Morwen shall govern herself and this household as she has done. Now, Morwen, what do you have to say to your champion?"
Morwen looked into his eyes, scrambling in her mind as a sudden bashfulness took over. Her thanks would sound pat in comparison to what he had done. It seemed so little to offer.
As the moment dragged on, he looked down and shook his head. "And thus Thunor defeated the suitors," he recited for only them to hear.
Thunor!
The swift sting of disappointment took Morwen's breath away as he flung his disguise in her face. Yes, he had used it well, restoring her home, her authority, her choices.
Except for one!
He'd closed that door with a swift kick. Foolish girl, she had fallen for the ruse just as it had come to an end. And the pain revealed just how her own position had shifted in the mere space of a moment.
She had fallen in love with the Prince of Rohan, just when he'd made it possible for her to go on without him.
But why had she felt the sting in her side rather than in her heart? As pain clouded her senses, she wondered, was that Ferneth's gasp or her own?
Morwen stumbled.
AN: Just a little cliffy. Ain't no thang.