The sun had crested the eastern ridge only hinting at its presence beneath a layer of clouds that had taken up permanent residence over the valley, along with the men from Arnach. Morwen strongly suspected - and it helped to vent her spleen - that Halmir brought the bad weather and it would only end upon his quitting the valley.
She mulled this over while she stood under the tree where Beldir's waist was just visible under the crown of pale leaves. A string of thunderstorms had made caring for the trees all but impossible since the festival. Now they had more fallen branches and the cherry trees looked depressed with their crowns stripped of blossoms and the leaves discolored in certain patches.
The tree shook in time with the growl of Beldir's handsaw. He wasn't one for long conversations, especially while working. Just when the sound of sawing would hypnotize her into a stupor, the wood cracked and another branch would fall to the ground. Although she would never admit to boredom in her beloved orchard, her nerves slowly unraveled with the repetition of stupor and startlement. Morwen found herself startled by wishing that Prince Thengel were with them, reading one of those books he liked.
Beldir swore when he jammed the handsaw in the wood and lost his grip on it. He shook his hand out.
"I still say Gundor trimmed this line," he groused.
Morwen stooped to retrieve a branch and cast it into the burn pile. Across the way, she caught the eye of Inzelbeth, one of the miller's daughters, who had the task of keeping Gundor's ladder upright and the boy along with it.
"You cannot use Gundor as a scapegoat every time something goes wrong."
Beldir gave her a look, which suggested he would certainly try.
"I'm surprised Hareth hasn't come at your for bullying him."
Beldir shrugged. "She knows the boy needs someone to whip him into shape."
"It could have just as easily been me," Morwen told him.
"You were not trimming trees last spring," Beldir reminded her.
No. Not with burying Randir and the myriad trips to Minas Tirith to settle his accounts. Those administrative duties she had felt all too glad to leave to Adrahil. The only good that came of last summer had been her growing ease with riding over long distances. Ease she probably hadn't retained over the winter.
A thought occurred to her. "Didn't Hardang send you one or two of his gardeners while I was away?"
Beldir looked down at her. "I forgot about them. They were not here long."
Morwen nodded and let the implication hang in the air between them. It didn't matter though who was responsible. Beldir would keep the trees healthy. She trusted him.
Beldir stopped sawing to take a drink of water from a jar he'd rigged to the ladder. "Look out."
Morwen turned in the direction of the gate. Halmir glided between a line of trees, so much like the wolf in old tales, with a bounce and flourish of some scroll he held. Morwen sighed and wished finding her proved more difficult for people. Routine made her an easy target for determined irritants.
"Up already?" she asked when he was within hearing range. Halmir didn't know what a sunrise looked like, or the taste of breakfast. Somehow her cousins didn't believe in mornings. Morwen thought she had left him back at the house, drooling on a pillow. The day couldn't be passing as quickly as that.
"Yes, moon of my delight. Old Gildis turned me out to change the bed clothes."
Morwen wondered if Gildis would take her suggestion to line the sheets with nettles. The housekeeper pretended to be shocked and dismissive, but Morwen could see the temptation softening the rigid lines of Gildis's mouth. If only she wasn't so upright all the time. Halmir had no qualms about tricks and threats and Morwen doubted they would be able to hold out much longer if they didn't stoop to his level.
"No matter, though," he continued. "I wanted to show you something that has just come from town." He grinned generously and his good mood made the fine hair on Morwen's arms prickle.
"A summons to return to Arnach?" she asked brightly. One could dare to hope.
Halmir laughed. "Oh no, you mistake me. I meant Minas Tirith." He laughed again. "I won't be leaving any time soon. On the contrary, what I hold in my hand will only cement my stay. Besides, Hundor informed me that the trees were not entirely healthy," he said with a grave expression. "How do things progress in the orchard, Beldir?"
Beldir grunted.
Morwen opened her mouth to challenge Halmir when she remembered that she had in fact supplied that information to Hundor during the feast. Odd, she hadn't thought Hundor was sober enough to recall it.
"The trees are well enough. Don't trouble yourself."
"Trouble myself? Morwen, as regent—"
"All right, yes," Morwen snapped. She grasped a ladder rung and called up to Beldir, "You may as well tell him what you told me."
Beldir climbed down. "Lot of dead bark on these three here. It's nothing we can't treat," he answered. "Fungus formed when we trimmed maybe over the last couple years, with this tree being the worst off."
"That's bad, is it?" Halmir asked.
"The bark keeps back the rot. Ignoring the bark, whoever trimmed here spread it around to some of the others. That's what I think happened, anyway. "
"That sounds very bad," said Halmir. "Will it kill them outright?"
"This season, no," Beldir told him. "But over time all these discolored folds you see here will weaken the trunk and branches if left alone. Rots from within. All it would take is a proper wind to topple the tree. And the fruit will suffer before that."
"Do what you must," said Halmir as he tucked the scroll into the crook of his elbow.
"We are," Morwen growled.
Beldir stared at Halmir before ignoring him and turning to Morwen. "What are your instructions, my lady?"
Morwen blinked stupidly at Beldir. They had already discussed their course of action. Did he forget? It wasn't until he winked at her that she realized that Beldir was deliberately signaling to Halmir where the true authority lay.
"Trim the branches with cankers," she told him. "Do you think a dressing will be necessary? We never decided."
Beldir shrugged. "I can make one up but the wounds usually close on their own. I would rather take care with the tools and leave the tree to the clean air."
"That's settled." Halmir clapped his hands together. "Now, Morwen I want a moment of your time. Eh, but I need a flat surface somewhere. Dais?"
He hooked her arm with his free one and guided her down the path toward the permanent structure in the center of the cherry trees.
"I meant to show you this at home…"
"In Arnach?" she gasped.
"No," he said with exasperation. "Home. The house. Here."
She bit her tongue. This wasn't his home and she didn't like how familiar he felt with Bar-en-Ferin.
"I wanted to show you in the study. That is the proper place," he muttered, sounding almost like her father, who had a strong ceremonial side, "but you stubbornly won't allow me to use it."
"I told you, Prince Thengel will return…"
"Yes, you've been saying that," he grumbled. "Oh well. You will get a better idea for the thing out of doors, perhaps."
They reached the dais, which had been stripped of its table and chairs until next year. Rather than climbing the steps, Halmir spread the scroll out over the driest patch of floor, careful to flick away a few leaves that had been blown there by the storms. He had to take out a penknife and a few stones he must have picked up along the way to keep the corners from curling in on themselves. When he finished, Morwen stood beside him and leaned over the parchment.
"You're learning how to draw?"
"Not I."
Halmir smoothed his hands over the patchwork of rectangles and squares and circles, beaming like a new father. The look of satisfaction drove away the devious angles that always haunted his lips and eyes. She almost thought happiness made him look kind.
"What is it, then?"
"Plans."
Her heart guttered. "What plans?"
"For the improvements I have in mind." His eyes grew sharp again. "Honestly, Morwen, how many times do I have to remind you," he drawled. "Come. I think you'll like them. A friend drew them up for me in Minas Tirith."
Stunned that Halmir had concrete ideas for the place, Morwen leaned against the dais for support.
"Tell me what you see."
Morwen squinted at the chart more carefully, trying to make sense of it. At first the raw outlines boggled her eyes, but she gave up trying to pick out a pattern. Once her eyes relaxed, suddenly she recognized the layout of her orchard, the house, and the outbuildings. A detailed blueprint of Bar-en-Ferin. It felt odd to see her home reduced to flat planes. And where had Halmir gotten all this information? Only, she spotted two terrible errors. She pointed them out.
"That's the top of the orchard," she said. "Not a building."
He smiled as if she had just told a joke. "Oh, I plan to knock that down. These hills are choked with apple trees," he said with a sweep of his hand over the chart.
Morwen's hands clenched into fists at her side and she drove her nails into her palms to keep calm. "Those apples are the oldest part of the orchard and our chief crop. We can't afford to knock them down. It's impossible and wasteful. Do you know we are the only suppliers for the House of Healing in Minas Tirith?"
He waved away her objections. "There are much closer orchards on the Pelennor, if it's the House of Healing you're worried about. Anyway, local produce is much more economical."
"You couldn't pay me to eat something grown on the Pelennor," she hissed. "And you do know that we grow a hybrid of apples you can't find anywhere else? My mother—"
"There's no need to be snobbish, Morwen. What are a few trees compared to hot and cold baths?"
"Baths?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Baths." He pointed to the other wrong rectangle on the chart. "The birch grove between the house and the garden will have to go, as well.
"Halmir, this property is named after that grove."
Morwen felt like he had cut her with that same movement of his hand. Tear down beautiful, ancient beeches and healthy, profitable fruit trees for what? The senseless thought caused a pain in her stomach.
"To attract wealthy and influential visitors from Minas Tirith." He flipped to another chart beneath the first, a mechanical drawing that really confused her eyes. "See, underground fires warm vats of water and push steam through a series of pipes in one part of the bathhouse. Bathers can then enjoy the view of the trees while they relax." He drew invisible circles over the rectangle with his finger. "We could put Imloth Melui down in the lists for healthy attractions for convalescents and anyone trying to escape the heat of the city in summer. Baths, steam rooms, beautiful walks, flowers, fruit, fishing on the Erui. In the autumn we can attract hunters. Wouldn't Randir be proud of that?" He went on before she could object. "And here is the layout for a lodge and here for servants quarters."
"Only Hareth and Gildis and Beldir live here. The rest go home to their families."
"Of course. I mean more quarters. You know this plantation could produce twice as much if we only had the workers for it. Minas Tirith is teeming with men and women looking for better work. More hands mean you won't have to keep getting your own covered in dirt." He looked askance at her grubby dress. Not the garb he envisioned for the mistress of Bar-en-Ferin, Morwen thought.
"I like my hands covered in dirt." She moved away from him, turning to face the trees. "Halmir, everyone who works here lives in the valley. You can't just bring in a host of city folk without upsetting the balance. We have as many fruit trees as the estate can support and now you're talking of eliminating some of those." She leaned back on the table and looked at him closely. "Have you given Imloth Melui any thought as a living organism? A community? It's like you're in a strange fever dream."
Halmir flushed. "I'm not the one dreaming. Aren't you tired of living by the skin of your teeth?"
"I'm not ashamed of the way I live. You may not like it, but I do."
"Your father was the son of princes, Morwen, yet if the farm failed, how long would you survive?" He raked his fingers through his curls in frustration. "I thought you would want something tangible to show for your hard work. Something you could put in a treasury, not just a jar under your bed."
"Are we really talking about me or is this about you? I am content."
His eyes burned as he looked at her. "Then you are more foolish than I believed."
"Every farm has a bad season, Halmir. We lay by what we can so when bad years come we have something to survive on. That means no extravagant living and finding satisfaction in what we already have." She pointed to the phantom rectangle on the blueprint. "This scheme is extravagant. Even if I agreed to it, which I don't, neither of us has the funds."
He gave her a superior look. "I've already thought of that."
"No." She reached for the chart unceremoniously threw the plans onto the ground. It landed in a puddle. The paper turned the color of burnt butter as it soaked in the water.
Halmir rose to his feet in alarm, then shrugged. "No matter. I had copies made."
"Not a single tree will fall to make this happen. I won't allow it," she promised.
Halmir started to reply, but a clamor from the bottom of the slope stopped him. Raised voices floated up, promising a brawl. Morwen descended the slope at a run toward the gate with her cousin in tow.
When they reached the road and were close enough to discern the lawn surrounding the house, Morwen stopped short. Several tents were now smoldering piles of canvas. Cooking pots and commodes, and smoking packs containing whatever gear had been salvaged from the tents where now lying scattered around as if a family of bears had trashed the place.
A group of men stood over the ruins, arguing and shoving one another. She approached them without caution, feet fueled by her anger toward Halmir.
"What happened here?" she demanded.
"These fools lit a cooking fire between our tents and sent them up in blazes," a tall, dark man groused. Morwen recognized the soldier as one of the men who had sought out Prince Thengel during the feast. "Bloody farmhands don't know a thing about keeping camp—"
One of the bloody farmhands took exception to the epithet and swung an arm out to clobber the dark soldier. Morwen felt herself nudged out of the way and Adan appeared. He caught the arm mid-strike and didn't let go.
"That's enough, Enthor," Adan barked. "Salaben. Ornion. Cullastor. All of you clear out. You'll need to find someone to tent with. And remember, fires only in designated areas. Don't let me catch you doing anything so foolish again." He gave a black look to the men who started the fire.
When the men dispersed, Adan bowed his head to Morwen. "Forgive me, my lady. I will keep better order."
Halmir's eyes hooded suspiciously as he stared down his nose at the soldier. "I did not name you captain, Adan."
"No, my lord. You did not," Adan answered crisply. "But your appointed captain, Tullus, is lying drunk in his tent and none-the-wiser. I recall he was recruited in a pigsty behind a tavern."
Morwen threw her hands up. "A tavern. Wonderful."
Halmir sneered, but pretended to ignore her. "You are making a little too free, Adan. Watch yourself."
Adan gave him an ironic bow and stalked off.
The anger that rose in Morwen made her feel oddly cold and detached. She looked at the scorched earth and felt she didn't know the lawn as her own.
"Halmir, with me." Her voice sounded steady and sharp as ice. Something in it made Halmir obey without a word. They walked down the gravel drive toward the house. She turned and stopped him while they were out of earshot.
"I want you to look at this." She spread her arms wide over the once green forest between her house and the orchard. "What do you see?"
The men stirred within their tents. Despite the accident, some were starting fires to heat water in areas with a little more room between the tents. She imagined her lawn pockmarked with scorched grass and she ground her teeth together.
"Halmir, you have been here for a week. Who is going to keep that camp in good order?"
Halmir sniffed. "My men are self-sufficient."
"Yes, I can see that," she said acidly. "Sufficient at brawling, drinking, and burning."
"Remember, Morwen, they're only here as long as you want them. You could send them all away with a word. I've unfolded all my plans to you. Once you consent to marry me, these men will march home within the hour."
Morwen folded her arms against herself like a shield. "I can't believe you don't see how twisted that is."
Halmir shrugged. "A means to an end."
"Meaning this retreat of yours?" Morwen bristled. "Even if I agreed - and I don't - we can't afford to feed all these men for much longer, let alone build. Have you thought this through at all beyond blueprints?"
Halmir unhooked a pouch, heavily laden, from his belt and spilled out a sampling of its contents into his hand. Gold coins winked dully beneath the clouds.
Morwen's hand flew to cover his, hiding the gold from any onlookers. Her eyes scanned the dooryard to make sure no one else had seen the coins. There lay enough money to pay for Bar-en-Ferin on the spot between what Halmir held in his palm and the pouch. And he casually kept it on his belt? Her stomach roiled.
"Where on earth did you get all of this?" she hissed. She imagined an empty storehouse in Arnach where all of Hardang's treasures must have gone missing, liquidated to supply Halmir's schemes. How quickly had he acted after his brother's death?
"Don't look so alarmed. I've enlisted investors," Halmir said glibly. He pulled his hand away from hers and emptied the coins back into the pouch.
"Investors?" she parroted.
"Yes, there happens to be a group of my friends who like my scheme for Bar-en-Ferin and have therefore agreed to help finance it."
Morwen felt her throat closing up. "You did not take their money."
He looked sorry for her stupidity. "Of course I did. Why shouldn't I? It's a brilliant scheme. I'll be able to repay them with interest within a few years of opening. Do you know what folk in Minas Tirith would be willing to pay for a quiet refuge in Lossarnach's fabled valley during the heat of summer?"
"During the height of harvest and markets?" Morwen pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, and I don't care. You hadn't even spoken to me yet when you accepted this money."
He gave her a cold look. "Truly, it never crossed my mind that you would be so obstinate."
Morwen walked away from Halmir on unsteady legs. She sat down on the doorstep slowly and tried to breath. Stars and Valar and Sea kings. These friends of Halmir's could not connect the loans of money to her, surely. That is, they couldn't possibly see Morwen as equally responsible to repay. Could they?
"What guarantee did you give them?" she asked.
"My name, of course."
"And mine?"
Halmir stared down his nose at her as if realizing he'd lost some ground. "No. How could I until we're married?"
Morwen sighed in relief. That, she promised, would never happen. Certainly not now that marrying Halmir meant marrying his debt. Some children grew up with stories of big, bad wolves and goblins. Her parents told one horror story, of the ruin debt placed on a farm. Lean years would come, they'd said, so live sensibly during years of plenty and make the yields last. Staying out of debt would always prove easier than getting out of it.
She hadn't liked Halmir's scheme for sentimental reasons, but now she had to take a moral stand on it. The scheme would ruin the plantation and likely sink Halmir - and he wanted to take her down with him. She recognized his proposals for what they were, merely the guarantee he sought to make the scheme happen and to reassure his friends. Morwen felt certain of that. After all, he hadn't pretended to be in love with her.
"And if you can't repay them, then what?" she asked.
"That is for me to worry about," he answered stiffly. "And if all goes well, it will be a moot point."
"I recommend you ride back to Minas Tirith right now and return the money to your friends before you lose their good will," she said tiredly. "Turning the orchard into a…a haven can't succeed. It's a working farm and everyone in the valley depends on it in one way or another. Altering the plantation would be harmful to all the families here. You also know very well that Arnach receives a generous portion from our yields. Can't that satisfy you?"
"Morwen, sweet, I am trying to be patient with you," he said, kneeling down in front of her. For once the skin around his eyes looked taut, as though he really had lost his patience. "But you don't seem to understand your place as tenant. I will be kind and not lord it over you," he continued, closing the space between them. He squeezed her shoulders. "But very soon I will be giving the orders here and you will be my guest."
His hands slid down around her arms. They held her loosely by the wrists, but that only seemed to drive home that he was holding her this way by choice. There was a promise of what he could do, what he could become if she pushed him. The cold, sick feeling of fear turned her stomach.
"When that day comes," he said, "do you want to be in my favor or out of it?"
...
A/N: On that happy family note, may none of you have to encounter relatives like Halmir on Thanksgiving. ;) Thanks for reading!