"Then he asked if I wanted to be in his favor when he decides to take full possession of Bar-en-Ferin."

Beldir fairly quivered with anger after Morwen related back her conversation with Halmir. He boiled over where he stood, insensible of the string of onions hanging from a rafter knocking him on the head. She had to take the shaking mugs of an herbal brew he liked out of his hands before he spilled their contents all over the table. She set his beside a tin dinner plate that still held a burnt rind of toast, which had been the overseer's dinner.

"Sit down, please," she urged. "I can't talk to you when you're looming."

Beldir folded into the only other seat in the cramped kitchen. Morwen leaned forward over Beldir's rough table top, resting her elbows on the edge. She didn't often visit the shed where he lived on the edge of the property. Here, where the valley walls began to slope in earnest, they were free from Halmir, his brother, his gang, and all of her own household who were constantly demanding her attention.

"How did he get his hands on that money?"

Morwen shook her head. "I don't know how he convinced his friends to lend it, but they have."

Through their generosity she felt thoroughly cornered. The situation had grown from preposterous to delicate. Now she had the duty of talking Halmir down from his scheme and convincing him to face his friends in defeat. For a fleeting instant, Morwen wished she could trade places with Ioneth who had nothing more to worry about than weeding the kitchen garden and flirting with the woodcutters.

"Perhaps after he sleeps on what I've said he will think better of keeping the money," she said without any real hope. "I'll think of something."

Beldir harrumphed. "You cannot ward off Halmir alone, Morwen. You're outnumbered."

"Then what should I do? We cannot go through with his scheme. I told you what he meant to do with the fruit trees."

Beldir looked contemptuously in the direction of the house through the open shutters while he thought. She watched him gulp down the hot drink and then attended to her own. It tasted dull in her mouth, oversteeped the way Beldir liked it.

"Many of those apples are the original trees to the orchard," he said. "My grandfather tended them. I don't know what I'd do with myself if they were chopped up to make room for a building."

Beldir fell back into thought, leaving Morwen to her own. Silence felt comfortable between them and Morwen had taken Beldir's presence for granted, she realized. He was as much a fixture in the valley as the trees themselves. Long before her birth, he served her parents as overseer of Bar-en-Ferin. Unlike either of her own parents, Beldir was born and raised in Imloth Melui. They shared that in common. Morwen didn't know any other home and neither did he.

They worked well together. What she lacked in knowledge, she made up for in willingness, which he respected. And so the transition of master from father to daughter upon Randir's death had been a smooth one up until this point, mainly because of Beldir's support. The families in the neighborhood perhaps didn't like him, least of all the children whom he had no scruples against cuffing when they were careless or lazy in the orchard. But he treated everyone fairly and so he had their respect, and in turn, respected their young mistress. The sentiment hadn't reached Arnach, she thought bitterly.

"You need to get your cousin involved," Beldir said finally. "Go to Prince Adrahil and see what he will do."

Morwen stared at Beldir. "Go to Minas Tirith? I can't," she said. "I could write…"

"A letter won't flap Halmir. Think, Morwen. If Prince Adrahil were to come and assert his influence, Halmir might decide to forget the whole thing."

"But Aranel is ill," Morwen reminded him gloomily. "Adrahil won't leave her to sort things out in Lossarnach."

"Still. Go to Minas Tirith."

Morwen grimaced.

"What choice do you have?" Beldir asked. "He can help you find out what your rights might be or, at the very least, he may put enough pressure on Halmir to leave by some other means. He might help you speak to the Steward. Don't forget your connection to the Princes of Dol Amroth."

"I haven't forgotten," Morwen sighed, rubbing her temples. "The thought crossed my mind more than once since the feast."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"I had guests to wait on."

"Prince Thengel left over a week ago," Beldir pointed out with ill humor.

The blood stirred in Morwen and she felt the heat of it in her face. "I know."

"Then what?"

Beldir waited while Morwen tried to put in to words exactly where her reluctance stemmed.

"Well." Morwen ran her thumb over the lip of the table to keep from looking up.

"Yes?"

"I had hoped to reason with Halmir myself without leaning on my other cousins," she admitted, "it makes me look weak."

"Weakness has nothing to do with it," Beldir said impatiently. "You can't reason with a fool."

"So I am learning."

Beldir leaned back in his chair, regarding her. "There's no shame in asking for help. It seems to me you can either keep your pride intact or the plantation, not both. "

Morwen glowered at her hands. "I shouldn't have to," she grumbled. "He should respect me enough to listen to my views without another man forcing him. Am I supposed to run to Adrahil every time something goes wrong here?"

"This is a peculiar situation where Lord Halmir feels he has some rights as well," Beldir observed, surprising Morwen and irritating her.

"Rights!"

"And there's his wanting to marry you, which makes some men pretty determined and not a little unreasonable."

Morwen struggled to swallow down several choice words for her overseer. She felt betrayed. How could Beldir try to see things from Halmir's point of view when her cousin had stepped so far beyond the edge of reason?

"That's no excuse for bad behavior," she huffed.

"I'm not excusing his behavior, my lady," Beldir replied. "Halmir doesn't see himself as a villain, is all, and that's the obstacle."

"And I am not accustomed to my wishes being ignored, which will be his obstacle. At least, it would be if the world worked the way it should."

Beldir laughed and Morwen found herself blushing again, as much in indignation as in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Morwen." He shrugged. "You had the unusual fortune as a child to have indulgent parents and nobody in the neighborhood to gainsay you. If the world worked the way it's supposed to, well, I can't imagine such a place."

"I'm not spoiled," she insisted.

Beldir grinned into his mug. "Nobody said that you were."

"Right."

Morwen rose to refill her cup from the kettle. With her back to Beldir, she felt she could think over what he had said. She watched the dregs swirl before disappearing into the black bottom of the brew. Through the one window beside the stove she could see the clouds were still spitting rain over the valley, staining the beeches gray in the dying light. Down the slope from the cottage, between the interlacing branches and new leaves she could distinguish snatches of the mossy roof of her home and a light or two twinkling in the windows.

It struck her with some force that she dreaded leaving this cramped, dusty little cottage for her own hall. When had she ever felt that way before now? With each of her parents' deaths the place had diminished somewhat in homeliness, but she never felt like it wasn't still her home. Now she felt that familiarity and sureness slipping through her fingers. Something would have to be done. Beldir spoke truly when he said she could keep her pride intact or keep Bar-en-Ferin. Not both.

He must have read the decision from the way she held her head up, as he asked, "When do we leave?"

She turned around. "We?"

"You're not going alone. I'm coming with you."

Morwen put her cup down and folded her arms. "Someone has to keep one eye on the orchard and another on Halmir." She shook her head, imagining her cousin left to his own devices. "Who will do that? Gundor?"

"Listen, the journey can be done in two days. Take another one or two for consulting with Prince Adrahil. What could Halmir do in that time?"

"I don't know, but that's what I'm worried about."

Beldir rose to his feet. "Morwen, if he is determined, there's precious little even I can do to stop him with all his thugs around. So I ask again, when do we leave?"

…

Morwen left Beldir's cottage feeling both relieved and unsettled. They had a plan. She would go to Adrahil and his support would set things to rights. So why did she still feel so uneasy?

On the one hand, Adrahil might only confirm that she had no foothold to rely on. She had hope of some recourse until that time. And yet, until she stood on her cousin's doorstep her nerves would buzz with the dread that something might happen to keep them from ever reaching Minas Tirith. The dread accompanied her on the walk through the beech grove and through the scattered tents where men grumbled and snored together, until she reached the small halo of yard they left to the household's use.

She found Ioneth in the kitchen garden, furiously pulling weeds and hissing under her breath at the drizzle. As far as Morwen could tell, the girl didn't succeed well with the mud.

Ioneth jumped nervously when she heard Morwen's footsteps crunching over the gravel.

"Oh, it's only you, Lady Morwen," the girl sighed. "I thought you might be one of those soldiers."

"I'm glad you aren't letting the men get the better of you, but perhaps you should save gardening for dryer weather?"

Ioneth wiped her nose on the back of her muddy hand. "Well, I won't go in the kitchen for any money while he's in there. Hareth's making a fool of herself, I say."

"He?"

Ioneth gave Morwen a look of long suffering. "The foreign one, of course."

"Guthere?"

"She only likes him because he's not one of the rangers from Ithilien, like the others."

It took Morwen a moment to recall Hareth's reaction to Adan the week before and the irrational blame the cook placed on them for removing her family from the danger of the orcs overrunning the forest. The truth was, Adan and Guthere were equally lacking in guilt.

"Why don't you go home, Ioneth? Gundor has nearly finished looking after the animals. He'll walk you home."

"You don't have to ask me twice," Ioneth muttered. She wiped her hands on her dress and left her pile of weeds lying where they fell. "Goodnight, my lady."

"Goodnight, Ioneth."

When the girl disappeared into the barn undisturbed, Morwen decided to come in through the kitchen rather than the hall, even if Hareth didn't like it. She could hear sounds of conversation muffled by the door. It abruptly ceased when the door's hinges creaked, betraying her entrance. She stood on the threshold, bathing in the light and warmth of the kitchen.

Both Hareth and Guthere were apple-cheeked and glistening in the humidity from the pots and pans simmering on the stove and the hearth. The bench had been pushed all the way under the broad table and a large gray pat of what might have been bread dough or gravel sat passively in a field of flour.

Flour covered them too, their sleeves rolled up revealing dusty arms. From the looks of it, Guthere might have been showing Hareth how to knead the doubtful looking lump of dough.

"Oh, Lady Morwen," Hareth clucked. She fiddled with her apron. "I thought you were Ioneth for a moment."

"Wet night, Lady Morwen," said Guthere. "Come in out of the drizzle."

Morwen did so, closing the door behind her. Now the savory aroma of vegetables and herbs enveloped her and hunger surpassed dread for her stomach's attention. She smiled softly at the pair before her.

"It's good to see you up and about more, Guthere."

Guthere blushed. "Thank you. I try to keep out from under foot, but…"

"He says conversation keeps his mind off the pain in his head," Hareth added.

"And the flour?" Morwen asked.

"I can't abide idle people in my kitchen," Hareth said, flushing nearly purple. "I put him to work."

"Nanneth would approve, I'm sure."

Hareth turned to stir one of the pots, hiding her embarrassment behind a broad back. "He's teaching me recipes from, eh…"

"The Riddermark," Guthere supplied.

"Yes, the Riddermark." She gave the stew a vicious stir. "That's how it's properly called, you know."

"So I've heard."

"There'll be stew tonight for supper and once he shows me how to work the dough…" Hareth banged the spoon against the pot, knocking off vegetables and broth, and laid it to rest on the table. "Well, it's just that he understands food."

"It's a gift," Guthere chuckled.

Hareth and Guthere stared at one another in silence. Morwen inched toward the interior door that led to the hall. "I've sent Ioneth home early, so I'll just go find Gildis to tell her."

Morwen left them, feeling thoughtful. Gildis was just outside the door in the hall. A fire burned in the grate, hissing with the occasional raindrop. The table had been laid. Gildis busied herself at the linen chest, which stood open while she folded the tablecloths. The older woman looked up, having heard the door. She gave Morwen an amused smile.

"So you've noticed our little romance?"

Morwen drew near to Gildis and murmured, "When did it happen?"

"Oh, who really knows?" Gildis shook her head, and said with gravity, "these things creep up on one so."

"I've never seen Hareth like this."

Gildis rolled her eyes. "No one has, I'm sure."

"She's letting him cook. You don't think there's any harm in it, do you?

"Oh, it's harmless enough," she said as Morwen helped her with the long cloth, "but perhaps your guest should leave sooner rather than later before things grow too serious. His pain seems to have magically subsided."

"Too serious?" Morwen glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "You mean they might want to marry?"

"How can they? He will have to return to serving Prince Thengel and that means he will go back to Rohan."

"Poor Hareth," Morwen sighed.

"Nonsense. Hareth can take care of herself."

Gildis took the folded cloth from Morwen and laid it in the chest. "Thank you. Ioneth should have put the cloths away, but she's making herself scarce these days."

"I sent Ioneth home."

"Just as well. She's been impossible since the feast," Gildis sniffed. "And where have you been?"

"Talking to Beldir about Halmir."

Gildis studied Morwen's face. "And?"

"I'm going to Minas Tirith. Beldir and I will go. Adrahil may have some advice for us."

"I take it Beldir suggested the journey?" When Morwen nodded, Gildis asked, "When will you leave?"

"The day after tomorrow. Beldir wants to finish the last row of trees, leave the workers with instructions for their care, and then we will go."

Gildis nodded. "A sensible plan."

"Do you really think it's a good idea, Gildis? It'll leave you and Hareth alone."

"What did Beldir say?"

"He doesn't think Halmir will have time to do much damage in only a few days. But if you feel you need us here, then we'll stay."

Gildis's eyes sparked. "Lady Morwen, are you suggesting I can't manage the household without you?"

Morwen bit her lip, suddenly feeling five years old again.

"This house has been in my care since before your mother became a bride and you were nothing but an inkling. Have I ever been unreliable in all that time?"

"No."

"Have you ever known me to be cowed by anyone?"

Morwen shook her head.

"Do you think I would let them raze the house, orchard, and all?"

"No, Gildis."

"Good. Now, when will you tell Lord Halmir that you're going?"

"Not until we leave."

"That is probably for the best," Gildis said dryly. "Do you think Prince Adrahil would come to Bar-en-Ferin?"

"Honestly, no."

"I wish he would. Lord Halmir could use some bullying for all that he's given you."

Before Gildis finished her sentence, Hundor materialized from the shadows of the corridor. Morwen stepped away from Gildis as if they were guilty conspirators and both of the women watched him with their breaths held. He stretched his arms behind his back as if he had just woken from a nap.

"Is supper up yet?"

"It will be soon, my lord," Gildis told him.

He picked a thread off his tunic and yawned. "Guess I'll go for a walk then."

They watched him until he disappeared through the hall doors.

"I keep forgetting he's here," Morwen muttered. "His brother's such a distraction.

Gildis nodded.

"Do you think he heard us?"

Gildis pursed her lips, and then said, "Let us hope he didn't. He's rotten with mischief, that one."

Morwen agreed. Dread quickly replaced hunger. Until she left the woods of Imloth Melui behind her, she wouldn't be free of it.

…

When the morning of their journey arrived, even the weather seemed relieved. The clouds dispersed and the young, spring sun generously spilled its beams over the valley wall. Leaves that were bent under the weight of raindrops seemed to curl upward to sip the light.

Morwen woke early to meet Beldir in the stables, but he had not materialized. Knowing him as she did, she imagined he had taken one last round of the orchard and had found something to distract him. So she busied herself saddling the horses.

Strawberry huffed in Morwen's ear, tickling the side of her face and leaving her a mess. She gently pushed his muzzle away and wiped the snot from her ear with her sleeve. For a handsome chestnut, he lacked manners, she thought. Across the aisle, old Briar, a small draft horse from the north with a dun coat, watched the proceedings with sleepy interest. The other horses belonging to Guthere and Halmir and Hundor had been let out into the paddock.

She had never thought of either Strawberry or Briar as short or overly plump. They were exercised regularly and muscular enough to pull the wagon of goods to Arnach and Minas Tirith. But compared to Guthere's horse, where she thought of them as deep chested, she saw stockiness.

Strawberry stamped a foot and whickered. He regarded her thoughtfully and his expression seemed to say that she wasn't the usual one bothering him into a saddle and could she quit daydreaming?

"Peace," she murmured. "I'm almost finished."

Morwen secured the throatlatch and stepped away. The tack looked right, but she felt a second opinion might not hurt. In fact, Beldir usually saddled the horses but he still hadn't arrived. She left the stall to go in search of him when her skirt snagged on a nail that had worked its way out of the post.

As she bent to unhitch her hem she heard a boot scuffing the floor. Looking up, she had time to see Hundor try to duck behind the stable door. It was too late and he knew he had been seen. He leaned back into the doorway and gave her a crooked grin that she did not like. As she rose, he stepped fully into the aisle.

"You're still an insufferable lurker, aren't you?" she said.

Hundor shrugged. "And you're a sneak. Where are you off to?"

"I didn't sneak," Morwen said. "Everyone has full knowledge of my journey."

"Not Halmir."

Morwen looked down her nose at him. "I don't owe Halmir an explanation of my actions. Besides, I have an inkling you already told him."

Hundor laughed. "It wasn't hard to find out. I just wanted to know if you'd admit it."

"Don't you have someone else to spy on?" she groused.

"Alas, no." He leaned against an empty stall and stirred the dirt floor with his boot. "It won't be much fun without you and Halmir butting heads. Why are you going to Minas Tirith at all?"

"I'm visiting Adrahil," she said.

Hundor's lip curled into a sneer. "The noble Adrahil. Prince of stuffed shirts."

"Don't be disrespectful. It smacks of jealousy."

Hundor shrugged. "I'm not the only one who says things like that. Everyone knows that their house lords it over everyone else, even the Steward's cowed by them. Hardang used to say so."

"Hardang would never speak of the princes of Dol Amroth like that."

"Not in so many words."

Morwen knew he enjoyed irritating her and that she made herself an easy target. He had the talent for it. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, a mistake in the dry, dirty barn. The dust tickled her throat and she coughed violently into her sleeve.

"It sounds to me," she said when the coughing fit ceased, "that Hardang's description fits Halmir better. Has he shared his plans with you?"

"Most of them."

"Then you know what danger he's in. Can't you try to talk him out of it?"

Hundor laughed bitterly. "Halmir does whatever he wants. You and I know he won't retrench. He'll sink all his money rather than admit defeat."

"Then what about you?"

"What about me?" he asked with a jaundiced expression.

"Surely you must be eager to return home to your friends and…whatever it is you do in Arnach. Do you want to be mixed up in this too?"

"Arnach's dull." He grinned. "All the interesting things are happening here."

Not for much longer, Morwen hoped. But where was Beldir? She excused herself and left Hundor alone in the stable. The Arnach men loitering in the yard made room for her to cross to the house, which always made her feel strange. Not that she wanted to elbow her way through them, but the way they treated her with such otherness unnerved her.

Morwen stopped when the sound of a disturbance reached her ears. A figure pushed his way to the front where Morwen stood and finally the others gave way for him.

"Gundor?"

"Sorry, Lady Morwen," he panted, breathless. "Beldir's hurt."

Morwen blinked stupidly while the meaning of Gundor's message made its sleepy way to her brain.

"Hurt? How?"

Gundor screwed up his face in a look of disgust. "He fell off his roof."

Again, the meaning did not immediately register in Morwen's mind.

"His roof? What was he doing up there?"

The men nearest them leaned toward them in interest, distracting Gundor who watched them press in. Morwen gripped his arm.

"Tell me."

"He said he heard some creature burrowing in the thatch during the night and he wanted to have a look." Gundor shuddered. "I heard him hollering on my way to the orchard and I hadn't even done anything yet! So I followed his voice to the cottage and there he was in a heap under some thatch and his ladder."

"Where is he now?"

"On the ground."

"Still?"

"It's his leg, he said. Beldir can't walk at all. He said not to move him in case I break his neck or worse."

What could be worse? she wondered. "Take me to him."

…

Morwen's heart sank as soon as she saw Beldir. His limbs splayed out on the ground and his face had turned a gray-green color that did not bode well. She could see he was sweating and making an effort to hide the pain. Morwen knelt beside him. Gundor at least had the forethought to clear away the ladder and the thatch.

"Morwen."

"What's the damage?" she asked gently.

"There's a hole all right."

"In your leg?" she gasped.

He looked at her like she was daft. "No, in the roof."

Morwen bit the inside of her cheek as irritation and relief vied for dominance. The farm could do without seeing more holes in bodies. Holes in roofs were the least of her worries. She became aware of more people gathering about the shed. Adan and the limping Beleg, Thengel's friend, were among them.

"Beldir," she said carefully, "I'm asking about you, not the roof."

Beldir grimaced. "Oh."

"Do you think it's broken?"

"Don't know," he said through gritted teeth. "Call me a coward, but I can't bring myself to look."

"Let me see." No obvious signs of breakage appeared while his leg was covered, no exposed bone. Yet, Morwen's stomach curdled in anticipation as she rolled up Beldir's pants leg. Sure enough, a red lump formed under the skin on his calf where free bone was pressing upward. Morwen gagged, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Broken?"

Morwen nodded, unwilling to open her mouth in case she was sick.

"It'll need setting." Adan had materialized at Morwen's side, surveying Beldir's leg.

"Do you know how?" she asked. "We could get Nanneth, but that will take time."

"It's common knowledge in our line of work," he said. "Happens all the time."

"That one's not to help." Beldir pointed to Gundor.

"No fear!" Gundor grunted. He looked as green as Morwen.

"We'll shift him, my lady. Beleg and I can do it. Then we'll move him inside."

"Thank you. Gundor, get Nanneth. She'll have something for the pain."

Gundor obeyed, taking off at a run that would wind him before he left the bounds of the property. He never did learn how to pace himself and she understood Beldir's frustration with the boy.

Morwen realized that Adan had been talking to her and that her mind had wandered. She had to ask him to repeat himself.

"We need a splint," he said. "One of the lads could fetch something from camp, but…." Adan's expression seemed to suggest he thought she might like an excuse to be elsewhere when they set the bone.

Morwen felt all too aware of her own weak stomach to be offended. She admired Nanneth's iron will in the face of bodily disruption, but that gift hadn't bestowed itself on Morwen.

"Tell me what you need. I'll see what can be found in Beldir's cottage."

Beleg described the materials they would need to set the bone and wrap it. Morwen entered the cottage, propping the door open behind her for when they would carry Beldir inside. She looked for splint material and any old cloth that could be wound around his leg. The man lived sparsely but she did find an old sheet stored in a crate up in the rafters that would work. It sent up a cloud of dust when she shook it open that made her cough and sneeze. Tearing it into strips proved harder as all Beldir's knives were dull and in places the old fabric simply crumbled. She handed the usable strips to Beleg out the window.

"We're going to set it now, my lady," he warned.

Morwen busied herself inside, turning down the blanket on Beldir's small cot, plumping the pillow, and moving his chair, a pair of old boots, and a crate of firewood that might be in the men's path.

She heard the men talking to one another and kept an eye on the window. Adan and Beleg were visible when standing, but she couldn't see Beldir. When Adan and Beleg both stooped, she turned away from the window, though her imagination made up for what she couldn't see. She heard a gurgled cry and a muffled swear.

Morwen dropped into a chair and tried to quell her imagination, which only made things worse.

Adan appeared in the doorway after a little while. "All done and wrapped," he told her. "He passed out and we'd like to move him before he wakes."

Morwen nodded and made room for them to carry Beldir to the cot. When they finished laying him out, she studied Beldir's open jaw and the slack, sweaty face.

"Thank you, Adan. Beleg," she said. "You've both been a great help to me. I hope this won't make you unpopular with Lord Halmir."

Beleg snorted his opinion of Lord Halmir.

"You're Prince Thengel's friend," said Adan. "That counts for a lot more than whatever Lord Halmir might dish out for a good deed."

Morwen felt herself grow warm at the way Adan included her in band of friendship. "Thank you. Prince Thengel is lucky in his friends."

When they were gone, she brought a cup of water and a rag to clean up Beldir. Thatch and dirt stuck to his hair, making him look like even more like a scarecrow than his gaunt features normally did. She picked out the pieces and then washed the sweat and dirt from his face, something he would not allow her to do if he were awake. Morwen hoped he would stay asleep until Nanneth came with some potion for the pain.

Her work done, Morwen sat beside the bed with nothing to do but wait for the healer and think over what Beldir's fall meant for her situation. Strawberry would need to be unsaddled and her bags brought back into the house.

Morwen balled her hands into fists and buried them in her lap. If Prince Thengel had luck, Morwen seemed to have none. Beldir wouldn't be riding any horse today and neither would she. Minas Tirith felt impossibly far away.

…

AN: Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate it!

Character list:

Adan: ranger, friend of Thengel's

Adrahil: Prince of Dol Amroth, Morwen's cousin

Aranel: Adrahil's wife, princess of Dol Amroth

Beldir: Overseer at Bar-en-Ferin

Beleg: ranger, friend of Thengel's

Cenhelm: Captain of Thengel's honor guard

Ecthelion: Captain of Gondor's armies, son of Turgon

Fengel: King of Rohan, Thengel's estranged father

Ferneth: Hardang's wife, Lady of Lossarnach

Forlong: Ferneth's infant son

Gildis: Morwen's servant

Gundor: Morwen's servant, apprentice to Beldir

Guthere: One of Thengel's honor guard, injured in Lossarnach

Hardang: Lord of Lossarnach, deceased, Morwen's cousin

Halmir: Hardang's useless brother, Morwen's cousin

Hareth: Morwen's cook

Hundor: Hardang's youngest useless brother, Morwen's cousin

Idhren: Ecthelion's wife

Ioneth: Morwen's young servant

Nanneth: Healer in Imloth Melui

Morwen: the mistress of Bar-en-Ferin

Oswin: Marshal of Riddermark, Thengel's uncle

Thengel: exiled prince of Rohan

Turgon: Steward of Gondor, father of Ecthelion

Wynflaed: Thengel's sister, princess & shieldmaiden

Wynlaf: Queen of Rohan

Various soldiers from Arnach

Places:

Lossarnach: A southern fief of Gondor

Imloth Melui: a valley in Lossarnach along the river Erui

Bar-en-Ferin: "House of Beeches," Morwen's estate in Imloth Melui

Minas Tirith: the capitol of the country of Gondor, seat of the kings and stewards

Rohan: Referred to as the Riddermark, the country north of Gondor

Edoras: the capitol city of Rohan

Aldburg: the founding settlement of the Eorlingas in Rohan