A/N: Fair warning, this chapter is rife with typos. But it's been an ungodly long time since I've posted and wanted to get something up asap.

...

Morwen limped toward home. She flinched as a raindrop struck her eye when she looked up. It would rain on a day like this, she thought, when everything seemed fixed to set her in a foul mood. The cold didn't help either. It felt like autumn and that worried her.

The crux of the matter, she told herself, was that Thengel simply couldn't know that her father had also left for Minas Tirith on this day a year ago and that he had died over night in his sleep. Thengel didn't know and so he couldn't foresee how his unexpected departure would make her feel sick to her stomach. And on top of that, to think she couldn't handle Halmir.

Well, even she felt a little uncertain on that score.

And the end of it all was that Beldir had sent her back early after she took a misstep on the slippery ladder rung and wrenched her ankle. Not because she had done serious damage - it felt bruised but still bore weight - but because she become too gloomy even for him - and for the dogs who chose to stay with him.

The evening meal would be served soon besides, he had reasoned. That she would want to dry off beforehand, she agreed wholeheartedly. But she didn't want to be anywhere near the house. She felt much more comfortable behind the walls of the orchard where not one of Halmir's people had dared to follow.

She shivered beneath her damp cloak. It was too wet to wear much longer, even if she did want to keep out of the house. The rain filled the air with the scent of damp sod and what Morwen always thought of as a wormy smell. A few of the birds thought so too and a few were still out hopping over the grass to get the last worm for supper, undeterred by the sound of a single human scuffling along the road. She wondered if Prince Thengel and his men were yet within eyeshot of the Rammas Echor and if they were feeling just as cheerless. At least they didn't have to sleep out in the rain with Guthere to slow them down.

Gritting her teeth, Morwen saw the yard stretched out beneath the beech trees. Every inch of level ground had disappeared under a tent, just as it had been when her disbelieving eyes had first seen them that morning. They were various colors from muddy yellow to homespun to Ithilien green. And musty smelling. She tried to find the path between all the tents and accidentally upset a bucket of filth just outside of one sleeper's half tied doors.

Disgusted, she left it to lie there as she pictured many, many more buckets all needing to be emptied somewhere that wouldn't contaminate the well. And who would do that?

…

The pitch of antagonistic voices reached Morwen's ears before she had a clear view of the front of the house, where the sound came from.

"Hunting them is all very well, man, but what am I to do with them now?" Hareth's sharp voice pierced the dooryard. "Split its guts open in the kitchen, juices and all? I think not."

Morwen squeezed her eyes shut before rounding the corner of the house. She took a deep breath, and then walked into plain view of the confrontation. Hareth stood in the middle of the kitchen garden armed with a handful of green onions. Across the beds of seedling vegetables and early lettuces, stood Adan and three other men who between them carried two dead bucks suspended on poles. Hareth's broad shoulders created a screen for Morwen to approach nearly unseen.

"Tell us where we can take them, then."

"Behind the smoke house, of course. And that's where you can hang them too, when you're done. " Hareth waved the onions at the outbuildings. "Don't let me see them again until they're clean or I'll run you off myself!"

Morwen cleared her throat as she stepped around the cook. "Those look fine, Adan. What will you do with the venison?"

"Whatever you will, my lady. To help ease the burden of so many."

Hareth snorted.

Morwen gave her a look to stall her from saying anything ungenerous. "Thank you, Adan."

When the men carried away their kill, Morwen limped behind Hareth back to the kitchen. It smelled of fresh bread and crushed rosemary.

"They're only helping, Hareth. You shouldn't antagonize them."

"I don't care for soldiers. They're just the sort who ran us off our land in Ithilien."

"It was Turgon's men or else the orcs would have."

"It's beside the point. And here they are, making more work for me. It's fine for them to hunt the deer — annoying, overgrown rats eating my garden — for their own entertainment. But expect me to clean it and butcher it and cook it so they can eat. It hasn't even aged yet. I wouldn't eat that tough stuff."

"But, Hareth, Adan simply wished to show you what he had brought," Morwen reasoned. "He didn't mean for you to clean it."

Hareth sniffed. "As if I cared. He should watch himself. I don't skin deer but I have a fillet knife recently sharpened and no fish to use it on."

"I prefer you didn't fillet Adan. At least he tries to help."

"He is still one of them."

"Prince Thengel says we can trust him."

"Oh yes? And where the prince now? Running off to Minas Tirith." Hareth slapped her hand over her mouth, as if not referring to the city would keep Morwen from remembering that she had lost her father a year before. People were so odd around other people's grief.

Morwen touched the cook's shoulder. "It's alright, Hareth."

Hareth gripped the table with both hands. "I'm not myself today," she said. "We're all on edge now."

Morwen edged around the long table toward the interior door that led into the hall. "I know. I am too."

…

Morwen's ears were full long before she left Hareth behind in the kitchen.

"Now just a moment, my lady!" Gildis's voice broke over Morwen like fallen glass. "I want a word."

Morwen stifled a groan and turned to sooth Gildis, though she had little enough left to sooth even her own frazzled nerves. Everywhere she went there were unhappy people to appease.

"You're favoring your foot. What happened?"

"I slipped on a ladder."

"Hmph. Well, I'll have a look at it. I wanted a word anyway."

Gildis followed Morwen into her chamber and forced her into a chair while she helped remove her boots. She stopped before removing the one over the injured ankle.

"Wait till I get something to bind it first."

"I don't think it's so bad."

Gildis pursed her lips, then said, "Let's not make it worse."

When Gildis came back she had strips of linen hanging over her arm. She carefully removed the boot with only a little twinging of the ankle. She checked the swelling, making thoughtful sounds that didn't seem to signify doom for Morwen's foot. Then she set about wrapping it.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Morwen ventured to ask.

"Do you need to ask?"

Gildis complained less in words as in the way she held herself. Her taut shoulders spoke of ill usage at the last minute rearrangement of the household and the fires that had to be prepared and dishes to be collected and beds to be changed. Not to mention the care of an invalid. All of which she oversaw. Then there was the crossing of the arms and the frowning of the lips. Even Halmir's men were not immune to that stormy expression and they stayed out of the hall.

"I know it isn't ideal," Morwen said lamely.

"Hardly." Gildis rolled her eyes as she finished with Morwen's foot. "Hareth suggested poisoning them today when they came round expecting her to serve them lunch. Ioneth is terrified these men are going to—use her poorly—so she won't step outside, not unless someone else comes with her. And I want to know what do you intend to do about it?"

"Did you tell Hareth she couldn't poison them?"

Gildis gave her a stern look.

Morwen rose and began to inch out of her dress. The ties were wet and difficult to unknot, but it provided a welcome distraction. Gildis handed her a cloth to dry with.

"Any sign of Halmir?" Morwen ventured to ask.

"No, he left this morning with his brother. He didn't say where, but I think he asked Hareth for some food. It sounded like they would be out for a while."

"That's a relief. Maybe they won't come back."

Gildis snorted, as if to remind Morwen not to be silly. They hadn't spoken about Halmir's intentions toward her since Gildis had helped her change her dress after she spilled wine down the front of it the day before. They both knew it wasn't the sort of announcement one made and then simply walked away.

A part of Morwen's mind still couldn't wrap itself around what was happening in her home. It startled her to realize how quickly a familiar place could begin to feel foreign. Invaded.

Her heart skipped a beat. For a horrible moment she felt overwhelmed with anger - and the source of her anger surprised and grieved her. Of all the days of the year when she should be mourning him, she felt a sudden resentment for her father. For abandoning her. For leaving Bar-en-Ferin open to someone like Halmir, who would never have had the gall to ride roughshod over the place in Randir's lifetime.

And for what? Not knowing his heart had weakened? For dying overnight in her cousin's home miles away from her? Morwen recoiled from the flow of her thoughts, flooded with guilt. Her rational mind knew she could not blame Randir for any of this. She knew exactly whom she ought to blame. But sometimes anger came easier than grief. It found relief in exertion. It was its own fuel. Grief held on like a cancer and drained the life away. It left Morwen so tired.

And she felt tired of feeling tired. She needed to be clear-headed, alert, and decisive. Morwen pressed her fingers into her eyes, trying to put an end to this circular thinking.

"Finish dressing. Dinner will be ready before long."

Morwen jumped, having forgotten all about Gildis. The wet clothes were in her arms and she had one hand on the door handle.

"I'm not hungry."

Gildis frowned. "No, but your guest is. He shouldn't eat alone."

Morwen had forgotten Guthere, too. It was the first instance where she regretted talking Thengel into letting him stay. A selfish instance because it was one more obstacle to the solitude her low spirits desired.

Perhaps Guthere felt low, too, without his companions, Morwen reflected. Gildis was right. She had a duty. And a sense of duty, like anger, provided a sort of recourse.

…

Guthere waited at the table when Morwen arrived in the hall. He stared vaguely into the fire but looked up when she pulled out the chair next to him. Guthere tried clumsily to rise but she waved him back into his seat.

"So Hareth's sour looks haven't kept you away," she quipped, taking in his somber expression.

Guthere shrugged. "The Rohirrim don't back down so easily."

No? Morwen wondered. Instead, she said, "Not even when your companions have left you to fend for yourself, I see."

"I'd rather stay here with you, mistress, than face what they will face in Minas Tirith."

Morwen blinked. "And what is that?"

"It's the prince's name day soon. He never stays in Minas Tirith during this time of year. Avoids it like the Black Breath."

"His birthday?" Morwen stared. She had heard of many strange fears, but to avoid one's birthday?

"I guess you haven't heard what it's like," Guthere said, reading her expression. He passed a shaky hand over his eyes. "It's a nightmare. Each year Marshal Oswin, that's Thengel's uncle, comes with half the Riddermark."

"Riddermark?"

"Er, that's what we call Rohan, you see."

"Ah. And what exactly is the marshal's relationship to the king? I mean, I know the general idea of a marshal, but what is a marshal in Rohan? It sounds important if he is related to Prince Thengel."

"Er, well. Er. A marshal is our highest-ranking warrior, you could say. It's always been the king and he would assign others as needed. But Fengel King prefers the title without having to do the actual mustering the riders in Edoras. With some pressure, he agreed to assign a second and third marshal. One in the Eastemnet and one in the West."

"What is an emnet?"

"Well, they're the plains of Rohan divided by the Entwash."

"So the marshal has some kind of authority over your warriors in these locations."

"Yes. King's first marshal over all Mark and the land is divided between the second marshal and the third. Marshal Oswin is the second marshal of Riddermark. He dwells in the Eastfold in the old fortress at Aldburg. It was founded by Eorl himself."

"And the Marshal is the king's brother?"

"No, he is Queen Wynlaf's brother. Fengel's only brothers were killed at the Battle of Poros long before you were born. Folcred ought to have been king. It might have gone easier for Thengel."

"He wouldn't be in exile, you mean?"

"Yes, and he'd have considerably more personal freedom. He'd be a common rider like myself."

"He would still be the son of princes," Morwen observed.

"The son of the third son who isn't much liked." Guthere shrugged. "Rohan is a smaller country, my lady. Almost everyone can trace their lineage to a king's bairns. We don't make too much of it after a few degrees."

Morwen rose to bring some wine from the chest near the windows.

"I wish you could have talked to my father. He would find this very interesting. In Gondor we study our heritage very closely and all the nuances and intricacies of birth and alliance. My father wrote and corrected genealogies for most of his life under Steward Turgon's appointment."

"Gladhon said you were related to the Prince of Dol Amroth."

Morwen smiled. "I was not allowed to forget it growing up. My father, Randir, he kept meticulous correspondences with his cousins, always believing those connections were always worth preserving. Prince Angelimir even commissioned him to translate Numenorean poetry for him, which was no small feat, since it meant taking time away from his precious genealogies."

"Was he a proud man?" Guthere asked.

The question surprised Morwen and she had to think about it. "Not proud in himself, but he had pride in his lineage. He didn't have that smallness of character that some men have who are eaten up with pride. At least, I never observed it."

"If he served the Steward, I wonder why Prince Thengel never met him?"

"Perhaps they did, though Prince Thengel never indicated it. My father might not make an impression on a foreign prince moving in Captain Ecthelion's circles. He wasn't remotely a warrior. He married my mother and moved to Lossarnach before your prince arrived, if I have the timing right. His trips to Minas Tirith were shorter and usually for specific business or to visit Prince Angelimir during his stays in the city. And in the years after my mother's death, my father only took to traveling to Minas Tirith during the spring around this time. He would ride up with our cousin Adrahil and return after two weeks. It sounds like Prince Thengel wasn't around then."

Guthere snorted. "They would just miss one another."

"So, the queen's brother, the Marshal, comes every year with half the Riddermark for Prince Thengel's birthday. But I would think Prince Thengel would like to see his own people. It seems more strange that the king would allow it."

"Well, it's a necessity, isn't it?"

"How?"

"It's an excuse to round up all the girls and show them off a bit."

"Show them off?"

"So Prince Thengel can marry one of them, of course. King's got to have a queen.

"The Marshal brings him brides? Sort of like a market day?"

Guthere grinned. "That's hitting it on the head."

"But why?"

"You know, so the line doesn't end and then we have to dig a new row of barrows."

"Barrows?"

"Start a new line of kings, if you will. It's a saying. Though we're not overly fond of the king we've got right now, I'm only saying." He flushed. "I'd be grateful if you'd keep that last bit to yourself."

"So you are saying that when he left here, that's what he's going toward?" That was the duty he'd neglected?

"Cenhelm hopes so. It would take the load off."

"What load?"

"Having to tell the king that his heir died on Cenhelm's watch. And that he'll have to start all over again."

"Oh," she said dully. "I suppose it's late for that."

"For Queen Wynlaf yes. The king has cousins and nephews but that gets tricky. The king has alienated most of them one way or another. His own daughters won't see him unless it's by royal order."

"I've heard only a little bit about King Fengel," she admitted. "But Prince Thengel seems very different?"

"I wouldn't have credited it until I saw him for myself."

"You didn't like Prince Thengel?"

"Not till I met him. He's a good leader. But in the Mark, you have to understand, there's a bit of resentment because he's gone off and become a Gondorian. It's not right." He noticed her expression and amended, "I mean, nothing wrong with Gondor. It's just, you want a king not a foreigner."

"Surely they understand that he left under special circumstances."

"Oh, they know and all. But there are three things the Rohirrim excel at. Horse breeding, fighting, and resentment. We're good at brewing too, but we really excel at resentment. Long memories and short tempers."

She smiled tightly, since he seemed to be joking. "What a cheerful place."

"Aye, we like it well enough. Even the swampy bits, which if memory serves, your Steward failed to mention in his pact with Eorl. The size of that fen is considerable. And there's the creepy, haunted wood full of menace, which he also didn't bring up. And the Dunlendings. Speaking of lines ending, they're a nasty piece of work. But overall we're pretty well satisfied."

"I am…happy to hear it." Then she asked, "How long has this birthday practice been going on? It seems he's taking his time with choosing brides."

"Oh, about three years ago, I'd say. My niece went the first year, but said it was a waste of time."

"Why was it a waste of time?"

"He ignored them and slipped out of the city only half way through their stay."

"You mean he runs away from them? Is he afraid to get married?"

"Oh, he's not afraid. Prince Thengel just doesn't like to be told what to do."

"I can hardly blame him for that," Morwen muttered. She had a disappointing thought and asked lightly, "I suppose he has many duties to attend to in Minas Tirith."

Guthere snorted. "Oh yes, when he wants to. He doesn't like to be pinned down."

"Guthere, did he use my cousin's Hardang's death as a pretext to come to Lossarnach to escape his uncle?"

Guthere shifted uncomfortably, realizing he'd fallen into a trap.

"Didn't he?" she pressed.

"Don't think badly of him. The king wants him for an exile and a puppet at the same time. It has forced him to be mean, at times, and to act against his conscience."

Morwen couldn't help feeling resentful. Not that he had intended to meet her at all and include her in his escape from duty. That had been an accident. But to think of him coming to Ferneth in Arnach to express sympathy when all he wanted to do was escape the tedium of a royal visit rankled her feelings. The picture of him in her mind began to fill in a little more. She remembered Halmir warning her about him the night of the banquet, but admitting he might have been right - even a smidge - only irritated her further.

And yet, she understood how it felt to be hemmed in and have one's choices limited by other people's interests. Admittedly, the feeling was new. She wanted to resent Thengel for turning her into an unplanned prop in his attempt to distract himself from his duties. But would she do better as Halmir's stay lengthened? Maybe.

Guthere was asking her a question, but she didn't hear until the end.

"Pardon?"

"Do you go to Minas Tirith much?"

"Yearly. I do not like it," she said decisively. "But it is more convenient to meet my cousins there than in Dol Amroth. And we have the summer fruit markets. I have not been there since last summer." Then she said, "My father died in the city and we buried him there."

Guthere winced. "I'm sorry. When did he die?"

"A year ago today."

"Oh."

Morwen half-wished she hadn't said anything. The point in leaving her room wasn't to make her guest feel badly about her father. Shifting the attention away from herself, she asked, "So you a niece. Do you have any children of your own?"

"Who, me? No. None of the lads have wives or children. Well, Cenhelm was married once but she died of some illness years ago. The married warriors are disqualified from the prince's guard on account of the hardship it would bring to their families if they left for Gondor for three years."

Morwen nodded. "I hadn't thought of that, but it makes sense. You must miss your home."

Guthere shrugged. "There are moments, mostly in Minas Tirith. But when we're in camp it's not so different."

The front door opened, interrupting their conversation. Halmir and his shadow, Hundor, entered. They sat down at the table. Not long after, Ioneth came out with their meal.

"Ah, you see Hundor, we are not yet late for dinner."

Hundor shrugged.

"Where is the rest of your guest party?" Halmir asked. "Still waiting for them?"

"You haven't heard yet that Prince Thengel left for Minas Tirith this morning?"

Halmir's expression brightened. "Did he indeed? I didn't know that. Although they seem to have left one behind."

Guthere shrugged.

"Keeping an eye on the prince's interests, perhaps?" Halmir asked.

"He is still recovering from his accident," Morwen said coolly. "And where have you been all day?" Keeping an eye on your interests? she thought.

"Hundor and I rose early to make a pilgrimage to Anarion's well. They must have left after we were gone."

A territorial tremor ran down Morwen's spine. "What were you doing at the well?"

"We each left a token in memory of Hardang. He always enjoyed that place. And since it has been a year to the day we lost Randir, we left a little something for him as well."

Morwen frowned. "Why didn't you ask me to come too?"

Halmir looked down his nose at her and sniffed. "I did not think accompanying us would appeal to you."

Hundor said, "Besides, you can go whenever you want."

She stared, dumbfounded. Plates of food were brought in and distributed by Ioneth in silence.

"We should be able to put aside our grievances to honor your brother and my father together."

"I am happy to hear you think so," Halmir answered. "It gives me hope of future cooperation between us."

Morwen bit her tongue, too tired for a fight. She wanted to eat quickly, then escape to the safety of Randir's library to sort through all the different emotions that had settled over her throughout the day and to remember all the good times she had spent in there. Now that it had been vacated by Thengel.

"By the way," said Halmir. "Now that your father's rooms are empty, I don't think you'll mind if I take over. There are some volumes in his study I would like to look at for a project I'm working on. I read so late into the evening, you know, that I would be disturbing everyone creeping back and forth to my room. And he has that nice, large desk. The little table in my room is hardly sufficient to support a book and my notes."

"Then I can move into Halmir's room," Hundor said, "my quarters are too cramped. I should say, the quarters I have been given. My usual room was taken by someone else."

He cast a dark look in Guthere's direction, who was too busy eating to notice or care.

"Both of you will stay put," she said.

"Oh? Why?"

"Because Prince Thengel is coming back," she said firmly. "He will need it."

Even Guthere looked at her then. His fork was still in his mouth.

"Why?"

She nearly said to collect Guthere, which would be the truth. But instead she said, "Because I have invited him back and he promised he would."

Morwen let the implication, whether or not it was actually the truth, hang in the air. Halmir could eat his paranoia for dinner.