Morwen walked a little ways ahead while the prince stopped to read a marker her mother had laid down when this acre of trees had been planted. It gave her a moment to let her voice rest - she'd been talking all afternoon, it felt like. Prince Thengel asked good questions and nodded in the right places, but she wondered if he had known what he'd gotten himself into when he asked to be led around her orchard. She smiled to herself and breathed in the apple blossom scented air. Not one cloud dotted the sky and she hoped the good weather would bleed into tomorrow. Beldir felt optimistic on that score.

She felt guilty for leaving Gildis and Hareth alone to oversee the housecleaning and preparations before the feast, however. But after all, she had promised Prince Thengel a tour in the name of hospitality and it did mean one less body in the way. Cenhelm remained with Guthere, who managed to sit up and demand to review the condition of his horse's care. Thurstan and Gladhon were making progress in the orchard under Beldir's guidance. Now the damage had largely been cleared away to the parts of the orchard out of sight of the pavilion and pathways where the guests would be.

Morwen had gone to sleep the night before feeling much easier about the feast. In fact, she had almost returned to the state of tranquility she remembered before the storm. Nothing could possibly go wrong that hadn't already.

Prince Thengel caught up with her. "Has this land always been in your family?" he asked. "I noticed that the oldest of the years listed on the markers don't go more than perhaps fifteen years back."

"No. Well, sort of." She thought for a moment. "My mother Hirwen, and I are the only two generations to really farm this property. The land has always belonged to the lords of Lossarnach, but then only used as a hunting lodge. What few fruit trees they had were only enough to sustain the household. My parents built it up to what it is now."

"How did Hirwen come by the land?"

"Her parents died when she was a baby and her uncle raised her. That would be Hardang's grandfather, Lord Hathol, you know. When she decided to marry my father, he agreed to lease the land to my parents since my mother refused to live in Minas Tirith where my father had served as a scribe."

"It is difficult to acclimate to a city like Minas Tirith when one is used to a rural environment," Thengel reflected.

Morwen paused. "You say that even coming from Edoras?"

"Especially coming from Edoras." He smiled dryly. "Though it is the chief settlement of Rohan, you can hardly call the rocky outcropping with its wood and thatch and grass a city compared to the likes of the many tiered Minas Tirith. Although, when the sun hits the thatch just right…" His voice trailed off and his eyes seemed to lose focus, seeing inwardly.

"How did you adjust to a larger city?" she prompted when it became apparent he had forgotten her.

Prince Thengel's expression closed a little.

"Forgive me," she said hastily. "I'm prying."

Prince Thengel's shoulders relaxed with effort, though he smiled. "No, no. I'm not used to speaking of Rohan to anyone outside of my guard, that's all. To answer your question, I acclimated because of the kindness of Lord Ecthelion and his excellent father. They were and still are very generous to me." An incredulous expression passed over his face. "Though I can't believe they expected their guest to remain so long with them."

"Is that a habit of yours, my lord?" she asked. "How long will you stay with us? I will have to let Gildis know. And should we expect more of your men? Beldir will have to build an addition."

Prince Thengel laughed. "If I stay too much longer, Ecthelion will send in his hounds to chase me out. He want me in Ithilien before long."

The mention of Ithilien reminded Morwen of Hardang, which she did not like. He must have seen it in her expression because he cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject.

"Now, how long until we reach the end of this sea of apple trees?" he asked her.

"I promise this is the last acre," Morwen told him as she led the way up the path toward the westernmost end of the orchard. She laughed as the prince gazed around in disbelief at the rows and rows of trees. Of course, there were no apples yet, but the trees were making up for it with delicate blossoms. But the ever present hum of invisible bees and the sunlight all promised future bounty.

Prince Thengel had trouble hiding the daze in his eyes. "I had no idea there were so many kinds of apples."

"How many did you think there were?"

"Three," he said, ticking them off on his fingers, "red ones, green ones, yellow ones."

She scoffed. "But didn't you wonder about the dappled skins, or the darker or lighter shades? The textures? Different species don't even taste the same."

He held up his hands, pleading ignorance. "I simply haven't given apples much thought, except how best to skin one."

She laughed again. He had been an attentive listener as she described the fruit trees for the better part of three hours. In some ways, she thought she ought to be thankful for this switch in princes. Adrahil never would have listened to her droning on for half as long.

"The apples that will grow beyond this marker are a cross specie of trees from Numenor. Those trees produced small, bitter fruit in our soil, but when a cutting from the Numenorian tree grafted with a native, it produced a lovely, sweet fruit we call the Hyarnustar Gold."

"I will be sure to mention the Hyarnustar Gold's origin in conversation when I need to impress someone at court. I didn't realize how little I knew about apple lore," he mused with a slanted, self-deprecating smile. "My education needs improving."

Morwen better recognized the signs of teasing now and left comfortable enough giving it back. "If you weren't the toast of Merethrond before, you certainly will be now." She replied. "Though I'm sure you know many things worth knowing other than apple lore. In fact, my knowledge of horses, for instance, probably matches your for apples."

"To be honest, my own knowledge of horse lore is not as complete as that of my countrymen. My education took a different turn after arriving in Gondor," he admitted wryly. "But for the sake of interest, just how many breeds do you think there are?"

Her brow wrinkled as she thought, and then a crooked smile appeared when she couldn't hold it back any longer. "Well…there are brown horses, black horses, and…white?"

"Gray." Prince Thengel grimaced. "We are evenly matched in ignorance," he said. "But what we do know seems fitting to our distinct spheres."

"You put it well, in a way that flatters us both," she said dryly as he lifted a branch for her to duck under. It was the last tree before a short lawn that led to the wall at the end of the orchard. They shook the petals out of their hair.

"Ah, we've reached orchard's end. I didn't think it possible. I completely underestimated the size of this place."

"Well, it is large enough to keep us fed, timely in paying our rent, with enough leftover to sell," she replied.

"I noticed two horses in your stables besides our own. Do you ever ride in these parts? It would save you a step."

"Sometimes," she said. "Though I don't usually have the leisure to go far from home. I ride around the plantation and to exercise our horses, but we keep them mainly for the carts we send to market."

"Where do you send your produce?" he asked politely.

Morwen wondered that he wasn't tired at the sound of her voice by now, but she appreciated the questions. "The majority of it is divided between the settlement at Arnach and Minas Tirith. A small portion will go from the port at Arnach for shipping to our agents in Pelargir where we vie with the farms in Belfalas and Lamedon for custom. Fortunately, neither of the two fiefdoms can best us for fresh produce in Minas Tirith."

"But you must compete with the farms and orchards on the Pelennor."

Morwen's sour expression showed what she thought about the quality of produce from those farmers. "Grains and legumes, mostly, which doesn't affect me," she said with her nose in the air. "The warden in the House of Healing believes the produce grown on the Pelennor is polluted by bad air from the dark lands and I agree. You won't find fresher air or cleaner water than in Lossarnach."

Prince Thengel glanced down at his boots and smiled knowingly. "I doubt the elements in Lossarnach would dare to be anything but superior in every way."

"No, indeed." She sniffed.

They stopped at the wall. There was a little arched door with an iron bolt on it.

"What is this door for?" he asked.

"For me," she told him. "The latest of my improvements."

He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

"I know it doesn't make sense to install a door on the opposite end of the orchard wall. It makes it easier for thieves to get in without being noticed if they can pick the lock. The orchard is my life," she confided, "but sometimes I long for trees and flowers that don't grow in tidy rows."

"That I can well understand."

"But once I've spent all morning in the orchard, I can't abide having to walk all the way back to the gate to get out and then have to walk all the way around again to get to the forest paths." She laughed at herself. "If you aren't too tired, I could show you some of the walks in the valley. There's a famous waterfall not too far, but I don't want to wear you out."

He looked offended by the suggestion that he might be tired out.

She bit her cheek and he seemed to understand.

"Ah, you were giving me a way to back out politely if I wanted to be elsewhere."

She nodded. "Or if your guard wanted you back."

Prince Thengel bowed as if accepting an important invitation. "I would very much like to go on, my lady," he said a bit formally, though he smiled. "This is just the sort of holiday I wanted."

"Good," she replied. She would have thought badly of him had he decided to turn around.

"And exactly the sort of holiday to give Cenhelm a stomach ache. The trees." Prince Thengel shuddered.

Morwen grinned. "Poor man. He seems very protective."

"Nobody wants to write home that the crown prince was brained or ambushed on his watch, you see."

"Understandable." She turned around and produced a small key from the pouch hanging from her belt and unlocked the bolt.

When Thengel passed through she locked the door behind them. A thought struck her.

"Do you have many orchards in Rohan?"

"I dare say they do," he said vaguely.

"May I ask how long was it since you left?"

His brow knit together while the counted the years in his head. "Almost twenty years ago just after I turned eighteen."

She felt the blood in her cheeks run cold. "Twenty years?" Why, that made him nearly thirty-eight! He was closer in age to Hareth.

"Stars," she said.

"Were you alive then?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Of course," she said, indignantly because it was only barely true and it made her feel like a child. She would have been just learning to walk while he had come of age and left home.

"Why did you leave when you were so young?"

He stared. "You don't know?"

She shook her head. "I know very little about what happens beyond Lossarnach, let alone Rohan. All I know is that your country lies on the other side of the mountain, that it boasts of its horses, and that I will probably never see it."

"It is good to know that the people of the country to which the Rohirrim have sworn the Oath of Eorl take an active interest in Rohan," he said with irony, though there was nothing of acid in it.

She accepted the rebuke with grace. Her disinterest in the books and the world at large had been the only criticism Randir had ever had of only daughter, and even that he had managed to find endearing.

"It takes all my brains to run this place. As we have not required the Oath since my grandfather's day, you will have to forgive me for paying attention to matters nearer to home."

"You have a very small world," he observed. His tone was neutral.

"I thank the stars for that. I am not one of your great people. What would I do with a great big world?"

"Fill it with fruit trees."

She grinned, then led the way down a well-worn path into the trees. "That's a happy thought." Then more seriously, she said, "Twenty years is a long sojourn. Have you never gone back?"

"No. I came to Gondor indefinitely," was all he said. When she didn't look satisfied with that answer, he added blandly, "A lesser sentence for disrespecting the king in his hall."

"So they sent you away?" she asked, incredulous. "For that?"

He nodded, looked ill at ease. "The peace of the Mark depends upon the utmost respect and undivided loyalty to its lord. My actions - words really — had threatened to weaken the structure that even now keeps the country intact."

"But you were young when this happened. We all say foolish things at times. What could you have possibly done to bring down an entire country?" she said lightly.

He stared at her and she blushed. The question had been entirely imprudent.

"I'm sorry," she said, having put her foot in her mouth a second time. But how did people get to know one another if they couldn't ask questions without it landing in a hornet's nest?

He waved away her apology. "No matter."

Morwen began to regret not returning to the house. The prince had been so convivial it never occurred to her how little she knew about him - and how much that might make a difference. It must have shown on her face because he gave her a look that seemed half-resigned, half-defiant.

"Still, it hasn't been all bad. I have an advantage that no other prince or king of Rohan has had, a thorough knowledge of our ally - from Gondor's language, martial arts, justice system. The majority of the Rohirrim do not speak Westron, let alone the elven tongues. And how many of them can say they have traveled by ship down the Anduin or fought pirates in Pelargir? Perhaps no one since my uncles' day when the Rohirrim fought and died to defend the crossing at Poros."

"Your uncles?"

Prince Thengel nodded. "Folcred and Fastred. They were twins, King Fengel's elder brothers." He added somberly, "Folcred would have been king had he lived. Ill luck, that." He shook himself free of dark thoughts. "They are buried in a mound near Poros to remind the mercenaries from Umbar with whom they are reckoning."

Morwen, who didn't quite understand the undercurrent of Prince Thengel's musings, turned on him with renewed interest. "Did you really fight pirates?"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Yes, when I was younger. They've gone into hibernation these last ten years or so. Ecthelion has turned his attention almost entirely to the east now."

"Stars," she murmured. "Your life sounds like one of those adventurous tales in the book you read from yesterday."

He laughed bitterly. "Adventures don't feel like adventures when you're in them."

"No, I suppose not." Then she added, "I wasn't trying to make light of what happened in your past. It's just so unusual in families to quarrel to the point of ostracizing. Nothing like that happens in Lossarnach."

"I'd count that a blessing. Those were bitter years living under King Fengel's roof. Arriving in Gondor was like getting a new lease on life." He paused. "At least after it stopped feeling like a punishment."

"You must miss your home terribly."

"I've grown accustomed to being away."

Morwen looked around her woods with its early wildflowers and the red squirrels and imagined having to leave them behind. She wouldn't do it. Even if her father was a tyrant, nothing could induce her to leave Imloth Melui for good. Never. This was home.

"I suppose Minas Tirith must feel like home now too," she thought.

"I try not to think of it that way," he admitted. "Minas Tirith, no matter how long I live there, will always be a temporary abode. Best to remember that."

"Then you must long to go back to Rohan, to feel at home again."

His face clouded over. "I don't know. How does the poet say it? '…I mete and dole, unequal laws unto a savage race that hoard, and sleep, and know not me.'"

She looked puzzled and half afraid he would ask her to name the poet.

He smiled, a little sadly. "You asked yesterday how Thunor's wife would know him after twenty years. Well, I'm not entirely sure how well Rohan and I will recognize one another after so long."

Morwen's ears burned, recalling what she had said and mortified that he had taken it to heart in a way she could not have anticipated.

"While I live here I am a stranger in a strange land. But I fear when I return to Rohan, it won't be any different." He looked wistfully at the trees. "I remember Firienwood had trees like this. Gray-green bark, smooth to the touch, and leaves like elf ears. What are they called?"

"It is only a simple beech," she said, thankful to talk about something else. "I love them. Don't they grow anywhere else in Rohan?"

"I can't remember. Perhaps not. But then, I'd never bothered to learn their names when I was a boy as Rohan is mostly grassland."

There was a look on his face that disconcerted her, like the expression of someone who is lost. She recognized it because it was the look on her face in the mirror one morning when she realized she couldn't remember the particular timbre in her father's voice when he would wish her good morning. The sort of thing she never expected to forget but once it was gone, the loss of it left her vulnerable and drifting.

"The tree that fell on Guthere looked like these."

"The beech's roots are shallow compared to other trees," she said, rambling to cover up the moment and allow him to recover. "Our valley protects them from eastern gusts and in this climate they grow quite tall, but once they rot…"

Morwen led the prince up a switchback trail that climbed up the valley walls. The trees thinned, allowing more sunlight to reach the forest floor and the rose and blackberry bushes growing there. Prince Thengel's attention was arrested by something in the bushes. He crouched among the ferns to observe small, white flowers that grew on individual slender stems.

"What are these called?" he asked.

"Cenedril. It is said they reflect the starlight."

Instead of picking the flower to observe it then throw it away, Prince Thengel gently bent the stem toward him. "These have one more petal, but their shape reminds me of a blossom in my land called symbelminë."

"It has a pretty name." She tried it once and found the word fit comfortably on her tongue. "Does it grow on the plains or in the forests like cenedril?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It grows on the barrows of the kings."

She frowned. "That seems strangely specific."

The prince shrugged. Then he pointed to a carpeting of feathery green creepers with tiny white, bell-shaped flowers. "What are these called?"

"Those are called weeds." Morwen laughed at his bemused expression.

"I was beginning to think Lossarnach was above anything as common as weeds," he said with an arch expression.

"No, indeed," she replied with her nose in the air. "Though our weeds are uncommonly pretty and fragrant."

He conceded with a bow of his head.

Morwen began to rise when suddenly she felt the pressure of his hand on her arm. When her eyes shot to his face, he held a finger to his lips. He nodded toward the line of trees. Whatever he heard, or thought he heard, she could not detect. But she remembered that he was used to moving stealthily through thick woods and listening for enemies. Her eyes strained to see through the murk beneath the canopy.

A herd of does materialized out of the shadows, wandering peacefully down the valley slope in the shadows of the thicket. One doe with her twins stepped timidly through the undergrowth on the other side of the blackberry bushes where Morwen and Thengel were crouching beside the cenedril.

"I was told the valley had a deer problem," he murmured. "Now I believe it. There must be a score here."

"Why do you think we built a wall around the orchard?" she whispered back. "Still, they are beautiful."

"And appetizing," he replied deadpan.

Morwen nudged him in the ribs without thinking. The doe stopped nibbling the ferns, turning the gentle force of her round dark eyes on them. For a moment they were frozen in a tableau. Then with a graceful leap, she hightailed away with her offspring. The herd followed suit, bounding away with a whisper of disturbed leaves and the soft pad of hooves over bracken.

"Come," she said. "We still have a ways to go."

He helped her rise when the deer had disappeared into the thicket. The trail continued to climb. Morwen pointed out the different flowers they passed. Another sound began to drown out the birdsong, and the prince stopped to listen, glancing around the forest.

"Is that a waterfall I hear?"

Morwen nodded. "We are almost there."

They climbed mossy steps cut into the rock that came out alongside a cleft in the valley wall till their legs burned with the effort. A stream of water as wide as a barn cascaded down into a dark, foaming pool below them. The mist shimmered in the air. They stopped to stare down into the pool, resting before the final climb.

At the top of the stair, Morwen stepped onto a stone platform partially suspended over the cliff. The crest of the waterfall towered above them and to the right of the platform. A well had been built into the rock alcove over a deep fissure in the mountainside. It collected the trickling runoff from the top of the falls where time had worn smaller fissures into the stone. A birch tree grew beside the wall of the well. It was covered in ribbons.

Morwen crossed the floor to the well, leaning over the lip to look down into the deep water gathered there. A few old birch leaves drifted across the rippling surface. She saw her face refracted within it. Then Prince Thengel's rippling image appeared next to hers.

"Do people come all the way up here to draw water?" he asked.

"No one draws water here," she told him. "It is a sacred well. Although that didn't stop my cousin Hundor from trying to push me in once."

"Older cousins?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, surprised. "How did you know?"

Prince Thengel leaned against the well, a sage look in his eyes. "I have two older sisters and several older cousins on my mother's side. For my fifth birthday they pushed me down the stream that runs from the foot of Meduseld. I rolled and splashed all the way down to the palisade."

Morwen gaped at him. "Weren't they worried about drowning the crown prince?"

"Not as worried as I." Then he said, "Tell me about this well."

"They say King Anorian's wife built it in his memory after he fell in the battle against the Dark Lord."

Prince Thengel stopped leaning against the stone. "Is it true?" he asked, peering down into the watery depths.

"Who can say? These stories never seem to make it into the official histories unless the women were queens. Evil cat queens like Beruthial or else hopeless tragic victims like Tar Miriel. If the rest of us are remembered for anything, it's by word of mouth."

Prince Thengel fished out a sodden leaf. "Do you want to be remembered?"

"I don't want to be forgotten," she told him. Then she shrugged. "But I don't like cats."

"Neither did Beruthiel, they say," he replied.

"Oh, to be that bad would take an awful lot of work - work I'd rather spend in my orchard." She grinned and he returned it.

Thengel approached the tree beside the well. "What are these ribbons for?"

"Memorials for loved ones. This one," she said, fingering a fresh green and white ribbon, "is for Hardang. Then she stood on her tiptoes to touch another ribbon higher in the branches. "This yellow one is for my mother - and this one for my father." She touched each one in turn, lingering over the frayed ends of a silver and blue ribbon.

She stepped back and surveyed the tree solemnly.

"I understand your father died only recently," said Thengel.

"He died almost a year ago. It was only two days after we celebrated Lossemeren. He went to Minas Tirith to stay with my cousins while he did research in the Archives. The healers say his heart seized in his sleep." She swallowed painfully. "Adrahil rode all the way back to Lossarnach to tell me."

"I'm sorry."

Her hand fluttered helplessly. "At least it wasn't a prolonged illness," she said. It sounded practiced.

He shrugged. "In my experience, the length of the illness doesn't determine the depth of grief. It sounds as though you were very close." He said the words like his tongue wasn't quite familiar with them.

"You have to understand that my father was one of the rare men who knew how to delight in other people. You didn't have to do or be anything, just exist, and he simply thought the best of you. I miss him." She shook her head and turned away from the tree.

The prince shielded his eyes before glancing up at the sky. "The sun rode high in the sky before we set out for this place and I notice it sets early in the valley."

"You are correct. We'd best start back." She led the way across the platform toward the stair. When they were back among the trees and flowers she turned back to him. "Now that you have really seen something of Imloth Melui, field and forest, perhaps you will have a better share in our celebration tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," Thengel replied politely. "How does Imloth Melui celebrate spring?"

"With feasting, drinking, and dancing."

He smiled down at her. "That sounds suitably merry."

"It's a wonderful time. The whole valley comes together." A shadow crossed over Morwen's face. She swallowed, trying to decide how to say what needed to be said.

"Are you well, Lady Morwen?" the prince asked.

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Only, well, you will meet Hardang's brothers tomorrow. I'll warn you I don't know what to expect. Their grief is still so fresh."

Prince Thengel inclined his head. "Duly noted. But let me assure you that if they are half the men Hardang was, they will conduct themselves with decorum and won't allow their grief to overshadow the festival."

Half the men Hardang was? Oh stars.

…

Thengel found Cenhelm in the study when he returned, sitting in a triangle of light coming in through the window before it sank behind the valley wall. The older man looked saintly in the light as he scribbled away at a sheet of paper.

"Well, Cenhelm, and what are you doing?"

"Good afternoon, my lord. I am faithfully writing my report to your uncle." He signed his name at the bottom and underscored it with enough force to cause the nib to screech against the paper. "Someone has to let him know you're alive every now and again."

"Oh." Thengel fended off a stab of guilt. "You aren't telling him where we are?"

Cenhelm stared up at him under the long, flyaway hairs of his eyebrows. "I swore an oath not to disclose your location until after a certain unblessed event passed. My word ought to be good enough for you."

"It is."

Cenhelm put the pen down, blotted the paper, and folded the missive before tucking it into a leather pouch. "And how did the prince enjoy his outing?"

"Just fine," he answered slowly.

"Just?"

Thengel ran his finger across a line of book spines on the nearest shelf. "Only, perhaps not wholly satisfactory. She's a singular individual. To know her, one has to know her orchard. It's an odd way to make friends."

"With all due respect, my prince," said Cenhelm, rising. "You're twice her age. Why would she want to befriend you when there's young, handsome men like Gladhon around?"

"Is that why he was so keen to work for her?" Thengel asked more sharply than he meant to sound. The idea didn't sit well with him at all. It seemed…duplicitous.

"I couldn't say. Perhaps you would learn more by observing them together, or you could ask Gladhon right out."

Thengel exhaled. "I'm certainly learning more about her by wading through all the information about the plantation. She's proud, arch, young, opinionated, nosy, limited in her knowledge of the world…"

Cenhelm's pale eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Truly? I have found Lady Morwen to be charming, compassionate, levelheaded, industrious. Beautiful even, in a dark, southern sort of way. But young? It will take years for her to amend that blemish on her character." Cenhelm shook his head with mock sadness. "It's quite the list of defects you've mentioned, my prince."

Thengel stared blankly at his guard. "Defects? I was only describing her. Besides, you didn't let me finish."

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I didn't realize we were entering her description into a bestiary."

"Alright, be sarcastic. Anyway. I doubt she'd have the patience for Gladhon. Once the poetry wears off she wouldn't find him working an hour in the orchard. She wouldn't stand for laziness. Her property isn't anything to sneeze at," Thengel mused as he passed to the other side of the desk and sat down in the seat Cenhelm vacated. "It took hours to cross the entire orchard. I am no longer surprised she pressed Gladhon and Thurstan into service. It's impressive what's she's managed to do and maintain. Her father's only been dead a year and by all accounts her kinsmen have have left her to manage for herself."

"Most impressive."

Sensing he had exhausted the topic with Cenhelm, Thengel asked, "Anything to report on Guthere?"

"Only that he's waiting for you to nurse him back to greater health. Béma help me if I have to recite one more riddle to keep him entertained. I need an airing. Maybe I'll take a look at this impressive plantation while I'm at it."

"Stretch your legs, then. Mind, you'd better pace yourself. We're all invited to this feast tomorrow so don't fill up on blossoms and scenic walks tonight."

Cenhelm bowed and left, leaving Thengel in the empty study to wonder about the day. The truth was, he knew, that he had found nothing unsatisfactory about Lady Morwen. She was all the things he described. He found her pleasant and rooted to home. It almost seemed as though the valley and the lady could not exist apart from one another. A good thing - not everyone could thrive unfettered the way he had. Or had he?

She'd gotten him talking about Rohan - trying to remember Rohan - which inevitably brought his father from out of the darker corners of his mind into the fore and that always left a bitter taste in Thengel's mouth. And so much had been forgotten in the interim. One of these days he would have to face the shadows again.

But it didn't have to be this day.

Deciding to shove those unpleasant recollections firmly back into the shadows, he picked up the book of northern tales from the corner of the desk and went to join Guthere.

AN: Thank you to Thanwen for kindly reviewing the chapter and offering advice!

Thengel's quotation comes from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem, "Ulysses."