Thengel and Adan left the house early the next morning. When they were clear of the door, Adan turned around to stare at the house's facade. He whistled. Thengel gave him an inquiring look.

"It seems to me like you could have used an ally before now. Your sister…." His voice broke. "I think she growled at me at supper last night."

Thengel shrugged. "It's an automatic response. She doesn't know she does it."

"And your uncle, he never stopped talking once."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No. Well, yes. Whenever you talked about him, I always imagined an older version of Cenhelm. Grave and ponderous and occasionally forbidding. Marshal Oswin's more of an ox. Maybe he won't stampede you, but if he starts to lean on you, it's best to move quick."

Thengel's laughter echoed around the courtyard until Wynflaed's face appeared in a window, cutting off his mirth. He led Adan toward the street before she could pursue them. Once they were clear of gate, they turned in opposite directions, Adan toward the seventh gate and Thengel toward the sixth.

Thengel tapped Adan on the arm. "This way."

Adan looked puzzled. "But aren't we going to the Steward's home?"

"We are, but there's important business to attend to first."

Adan followed him down several levels toward the market. They stopped outside a shop that looked like it had belched up half its stock onto the curb. Crude crates of wooden dogs and horses with fixed painted grins stared at them next to baskets of long sticks dripping ribbon onto the stones. Thengel stopped before a pile of assorted weapons. Three boys were also considering them while giving covert glances at the master of the toyshop, just visible through the darkened door. The methodic scraping of a knife against wood could be heard from within.

Adan picked up a wooden sword lying in a pile and slashed the air with it. The boys scattered.

"Are you going to convince Captain Ecthelion to equip us with ash swords?"

Thengel shrugged. "It would cut expenses."

"Indeed." Adan held the blade before him and stared down its length. Two women walking arm in arm past the shop gave them a wide berth. "You don't have to clothe and feed dead soldiers, which we would all soon be when armed with only these."

"I don't know," Thengel replied. "The orcs might die of laughter once they saw you coming."

Adan gave him a sarcastic grin and dropped the sword back on the pile. "If it's all the same to you, my friend," he said, "I prefer steel. "

"Lucky for you we're not here for toys. Come inside."

…

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the bright sun reflecting off the white city walls to the gentle dimness within the shop. Sturdy wooden shelves lined the walls, crowded with all manner of toys. Soft stuffed dragons, wooden charging lions fitted with wheels, odd puzzles made from iron scraps, and filigree crowns where some of the wares. Thengel ignored these and made for a heavy-set man sitting on a stool beside a workbench at the far end of the room. On the wall above the table, hammers, awls, saws, rolls of sandpaper, and myriad other tools hung. Wood shavings formed a nest around the stool and a crutch leaning against the table. The proprietor was missing a leg from the knee down. When he recognized his patrons, the toymaker reached for his crutch to rise, but Thengel waved him down.

"Tegilbor, you remember Adan?"

"I should hope so, though it's been the better part of twelve years since they dragged me out of Ithilien." He shook hands with Adan. "A poisoned arrow just below the knee, you remember."

"It's always an arrow to the knee." They laughed. Adan gestured toward the door. "I thought those wooden swords out front looked familiar."

Tegilbor beamed. "Aye. All in the handle. I fashioned them after the ones issued to us back when Mormagil was still the Steward's master blacksmith. A work of art, they were. Perfectly balanced and not a weapon I'd be ashamed to wear in Merethrond on a feast day."

"Beautiful," Adan agreed. "How did you go into toy making?"

"I always liked working with wood and we all learned to be handy with a needle and thread out in the wilderness. I can sew a mean-looking dragon, and as it happens, they're very popular at the moment. It was Prince Thengel who gave me the idea. He helped me set up shop. Brought me custom. Once it got around that the Steward's grandson had toys from Tegilbor, it's been all I could do to keep up." He kicked at some of the sawdust under his foot. "Haven't had a moment's peace. I'm not sure I should thank him or blame him!"

"Listen, Tegilbor," Thengel interrupted with a laugh. "Blame me later. Right now I need a book recommendation."

"Of course." Tegilbor pursed his lips, thinking. "And how did the young critic enjoy the last story? Silverbeard it was, I think."

"He said he liked the adventure very much, but he could tell it was written by an adult."

"Oh?"

"I believe he felt disappointed that the hero handed over the map to the grownups and didn't go in search of the treasure by himself."

Tegilbor raised his eyebrows. "I'm falling down on the job, I see. Well, let me think." The toymaker turned to the wall containing nothing but books, scanning over every brightly colored spine. "Do you think he's perhaps ready to move on to biography? Not straight biography, of course. But we have this fictionalized account of Tuor Eladar's early days, which he might enjoy. Conveniently, it's mum about tricky romance business which young boys can't be bothered with just yet."

"What is it called?"

"My Side of Mithrim. It has enough oppressive adults, scrapes, orcs, and narrow escapes to turn a young man's head giddy."

"Illustrations?"

"Only a handful of rather grim woodcuts." Tegilbor held up a finger. "And not a single talking animal. I remember that was a sore point."

Thengel purchased the book and before long they were making their way back up the levels to the Steward's home. Adan was quiet most of that time.

"Everything all right, Adan?" Thengel asked.

"I was just thinking of Tegilbor," he answered. "I lost track of him and quite a few of the other men who were mangled by the enemy over the years. Didn't know you set him up like that. That's decent. It's not easy for 'em to move on sometimes."

Thengel shrugged. "He just needed a leg up." He grimaced. "Literally, in fact."

Adan jabbed his thumb at the parcel tucked under Thengel's arm. "That children's book isn't for Captain Ecthelion?"

Thengel's eyes brightened. "No, this is for his boy. I never visit Ecthelion at home without something in hand."

"Should I have something?"

"No, don't worry. I'm something of the boy's guardian, you see."

"Ah."

When they were again on the sixth level, close to the archives, Thengel stopped outside a grand house protected by a wall and ornate gate. He peered into the courtyard between the bars. "This is the residence for the Princes of Dol Amroth."

"Yes, this is where I brought Lady Morwen yesterday. She seemed to know the place pretty well."

Thengel nodded and continued on. "What was it like at Bar-en-Ferin after we left?"

Adan's expression closed. "Well, I'm not supposed to say."

Thengel gave him a cutting look. "What do you mean?"

"Lady Morwen says I'm not to talk to you about it. Especially not to you."

Thengel felt affronted. "Why in Béma's name not?"

Adan shrugged. "She's embarrassed, I guess. I would be if I had a great bullying cousin like Lord Halmir."

Embarrassed for Thengel to know? He already knew most of it. Didn't she think she could trust him? Absurd.

"At least tell me what you've been up against so I can explain it to Ecthelion," Thengel said gruffly.

Adan gave Thengel a strange look. "I don't see why it should make you angry."

"I'm not angry."

"If you say so." Adan shrugged. "Anyway, the last few days were chaotic. I had my hands full keeping the men in line. Half of them don't care a wit for authority and their superiors were in no better state anyway. They're bored."

Boredom among soldiers never boded well, especially when they were being managed by indolent men like Halmir. Yet another example of the man's stupidity.

"Did Morwen have any help?"

"I helped where I could, but Lord Halmir's patience with me didn't last long. And her man, the scarecrow…"

"Beldir."

"Yes, him. He had an accident a few days ago just as the lady was thinking to come up to Minas Tirith herself. Broke a leg."

"He was to come along with her?"

"Yes."

Thengel laughed dryly. "Of course." Then he asked, "How did it happen that you came? Was it Morwen's idea?"

"I offered. I sometimes talk with the women of the household and so that's how I heard of it. The thought hadn't occurred to Lady Morwen that someone else could accompany her and she wasn't fool enough to come by herself. Truthfully, I think she didn't like the plan at first, because who would be around to quell the lads? But I could see she needed to get on the road."

"Why?"

Adan swallowed hard. "I'm not breaking my promise - not really, because I'm going to tell you something the lady doesn't know herself."

Thengel stopped. "What is it?"

Adan looked around and lowered his voice. "Lord Halmir has ordered some axes. Not the ones we're all carrying about for show. Real, serviceable axes. For trees."

Thengel felt the heat rising in his throat. He gripped Adan's arm. "No."

"Oh, he's ready to force her hand—" Adan shut his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

Adan shrugged. "I don't mind telling you what I know from our end and about Lord Halmir's plans for us, but not all of this is my business. I'm sure if you spoke to the lady yourself, she would be forthcoming."

Forthcoming. And when would he speak to her? This wasn't the country. In Minas Tirith there were rules about visiting single women. He would have to visit Adrahil first and hope for an invitation from Princess Aranel. They would drink tea. Maybe he would be invited to dinner. And then he might be permitted to speak to Morwen alone. The whole rigmarole could take the better part of a week. Would she stay that long with Bar-en-Ferin hanging in the balance?

And then would she deign to confide in him? What had he done to make her want to keep secrets? And, Béma, if she didn't want him involved, why was he so determined?

Because of Guthere. Yes, because of Guthere. He owed her a debt and if he happened to feel genuine concern it only proved that he was capable of fellow feeling.

"Hey, wait up," Adan called. Only then did Thengel realize that he'd stalked onward at a quick pace, leaving his companion in the dust.

…

"What? You're just going to walk in?" Adan said nervously. He eyed the two guards standing sentinel on the steps below. They'd allowed the two men to come this far, but it felt like a trap.

Thengel stalled mid-push, and instead leaned against the front door. He looked puzzled.

"Why not?"

"Well, it's the Steward's house!"

"This was my home for the better part of twenty years, Adan," he said dryly. "If I started ringing the bell now they'd never recover from the shock."

"That's fine for you. I'm just a soldier," Adan grumbled. "Someone with my ugly mug would get arrested for walking in like that. I'll wait out here."

Thengel nodded. "I won't be long."

Adan went to find a comfortable place to sit in the courtyard, preferably with his back to the dead tree. The Steward's guards standing seemed not to see him, which only made him feel more conspicuous.

…

A servant met Thengel at the door.

"Welcome, Prince Thengel. Lord Ecthelion is in his study."

"Thank you, Mallor. Are the Lakemen with him?"

"Not yet, my lord. They are sitting with the Steward."

"Where's the lady of the house?"

The servant led Thengel to the drawing room. Two women were sitting together. He recognized Idhren's companion, a rabbit-like woman, reading aloud from a book while her mistress, a far grander woman sat embroidering a piece of muslin set in a hoop. Niniel broke off mid sentence when the servant admitted Thengel, and closing her book, dipped into a curtsey and left the room without a look at him. He could never tell if his maleness oppressed her or the fact that he wasn't a Gondorian.

Ecthelion's wife rose and put aside her sewing. She moved toward him with a grace that always made everyone in the room look like bumblers. He had known her from his earliest days in Minas Tirith and she looked unchanged. Her black hair fell straight and shining down her back, never out of place, never bound. Her eyes were a blue so light they looked almost like ice in a painting. Not an exact representation, but as soon as you saw them you recognized it.

"Idhren." Thengel dropped the book on a small table as she clasped his hands in her own. They were soft and smooth and smelled of gardenia oil. She allowed him to kiss her cheek. "Sorry to interrupt. Niniel will be put out."

"Nonsense, darling. It will give her voice a break," she said lightly. "Why haven't you come to see me before? You've been home for over a week. I call that very shabby. After all, I've made your sister's acquaintance. You've had ample opportunity."

He grimaced. "Can you forgive me?"

Idhren sighed, withdrawing her hands. "I'll try, dear, but it isn't always in my nature."

Thengel looked around him noting the balance of furniture, the windows, the fireplace, and the paintings. Impeccable, everything looked exactly in place. Some of the pieces were new, he noted. An end table, the armchair under a new painting of Denethor that didn't do justice who how fat the boy had grown. Only the workbag beside Idhren's seat wasn't ornamental. It occurred to him that something was wrong.

"Shouldn't you be up to your ears in planning for the feast? I expected the room to be covered in guest lists and menus."

Idhren's eyes flashed. "Lord no! I've delegated that task to Lady Rian. Now that her daughter is married off to Prince Adrahil she has nothing left to do with her time. And why not? Her husband is Lord Belehir. She will have access to anything she needs – so long as it requires a key." She sighed. "Besides, I have a far greater task."

Thengel looked surprised. "Greater than acting as the Steward's hostess?"

"Yes, and if you can't guess what it is then you're a fool." Her lips curled into a sly smile. "Fortunately, your sister is quite diverting."

"Ah. Yes. She asked for your help finding me a bride." Thengel shuddered. "And you agreed?"

Idhren resumed her place on the sofa and gestured for him to join her. "How could I tell her no? I did manage to lead her down some dead ends though."

"Dead ends?"

Idhren laughed, a low sound deep in her throat. "Lady Iarwen, for one."

Thengel goggled at her. "Lady Iarwen is seventy years old."

"Yes, but she's never been married and she's fabulously rich. Besides, Wynflaed didn't know any better as Iarwen doesn't look a day above fifty. An entire afternoon was wasted and all for you."

Thengel laughed, imagining Wynflaed's frustration. "How could you?"

"Well, I felt I ought to restrain her efforts until I could speak with you myself and learn your feelings on the matter." She studied him coolly. "Your family are in a terrible rush and I never like to be rushed. Besides, you deserve a fighting chance. It's unsportsmanlike to go behind your back, to borrow a phrase from my husband."

He kissed her hands. "What would I do without you?"

"I'm certain I don't know, dear." She pretended to consider the point. "I wonder why you didn't choose a wife yourself before now - not that I mind you leaving all the hard work to us, but it is peculiar for someone who likes to have his own way."

He smiled at her with affection. "Because all the women I fell in love with married my friends," he quipped.

She gave him an arch look. "You mean you let them marry your friends."

"Let them?"

Idhren leaned forward to retrieve her embroidery from atop her workbasket, partially obscuring her face as her dark hair slid over her shoulder. "Perhaps if they had known how you felt they might have chosen differently," she said loftily.

Thengel felt suddenly uncomfortable. "Not you though."

Idhren looked up at him. "Me?"

"You're happy, I mean. You're devoted to Ecthelion and always have been."

"Oh yes." Idhren laughed hollowly. "As happy as a beautiful tapestry in a house that is seldom occupied," she said with only a little acid. Before he could feel really alarmed by her tone, her eyes brightened and she changed the subject. "Tell me about this sister of yours. Am I in danger?"

Thengel leaned back against the couch and studied his boots. "Not if you cooperate. She will figure out that you've been leading her a merry dance, though. I can't answer for her behavior when she does. Shieldmaidens have little scruples."

"Shieldmaidens. What on earth are they?" Idhren stabbed the muslin with her needle, drawing a red thread through the back of the fabric, then bringing it up through the right side again.

"In Rohan women fight alongside the men. She's as much a warrior as Ecthelion."

"I'm not afraid," she said gamely.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to be."

They sat in thoughtful silence for a while as Idhren focused on her pattern. They had known each other so long and so well that the absence of speech never bothered either of them. But Thengel recalled Adan waiting in the courtyard and so he retrieved the gift from the table and made signs of rising from his comfortable seat beside her.

"Is Ecthelion home?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"He is. And Denethor too." She glanced up as if seeing them through the ceiling. "What have you brought the boy now?"

Thengel cradled the package in his hand. "Only a book. It's harmless enough."

Idhren shook her head. "You spoil him. He expects presents and sulks when he doesn't get them."

"Ecthelion said you did that."

Idhren sniffed. "Well…his father is hard on him and I do have to come to Denethor's rescue more often than not. Not that the boy appreciates it." She put project down and turned to Thengel. "Do all boys go through this phase of detesting their parents in order to prove that they've grown up?"

"Don't ask me. I was an extreme case."

She arched a delicate eyebrow. "Yes, I'd say that you were. Your poor mother."

Thengel wasn't going to discuss his mother. "Where are they?"

"Where else?" she said as she began to sew again. "Ecthelion's been locked in his war room since those Lakemen arrived. Go on up. I won't bore you."

"Never, Idhren."

"Your sister will be along shortly," she said without taking her eyes off her embroidery. "You'll meet her here if you don't hurry and then you will be beyond my help. I think she wants to go door to door canvassing for eligible women."

Thengel crossed his arms. "About that - you will tell me if she's a bother."

"Oh, I'm very amused. It's nice to feel wanted, so I won't tell her it's useless."

"Useless?"

"Useless." She sighed, knotted her thread, and cut it. "You are too stubborn for your own good, Thengel. Even if we found the perfect woman, you would reject her on the grounds that you hadn't thought of it first."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" she countered. "I know for a fact that you do what you want. But let me warn you, darling, the more stubborn you are the less of a choice you will have. Remember, I am your ally, but it wouldn't hurt for you to help yourself a little."

"I'll keep that in mind, Idhren.

"Do. Now run up and give Denethor his book. He's been locked away with his father all morning and I'm sure we're due for a crisis at any moment. If you divert it, I'll consider us even for the pains I've taken with your sister."

"I'll do my best."

"And send Niniel back in, will you? I don't care for her company much, but as long as she's reading and not trying to think an original thought, I can abide it."

He did not have to look long. Niniel had parked herself on a bench within a little alcove only a few steps down the hallway. She rose stiffly, hugging her book. Then she ducked into the drawing room before Thengel could say boo to her.

…

Thengel didn't bother to knock before letting himself into the study. Ecthelion likely wouldn't hear it anyway. In fact, the captain of Gondor's armies had his back to the door, bending over a table covered in maps. A plump lad of eleven years sat sulking in the corner window looking into the sunken garden behind the house. Thengel felt a sympathetic pang for Denethor, having spent the majority of his first years in Minas Tirith sitting in that same box seat trying to learn about his new home. Idhren hadn't stepped foot into the room since her marriage and therefore the cushions hadn't been changed in over 20 years. By now Denethor's backside should be thoroughly numb.

A heavy tome crushed the boy's lap and had started a steady descent toward the floor. Thengel could tell by the way Denethor's head was hanging that he was half asleep.

The boy's head popped up when the door closed behind Thengel with a heavy click. Thengel just managed to rescue the book from crashing to the floor.

"Uncle Thengel! Oops."

Ecthelion turned his head briefly during the scuffle, but returned his attention to his desk, ignoring them.

"Hello, my boy, what are we studying today?" Thengel turned the book to read the spine. "The Akallabeth. Hmm. Can you tell me what you read?"

Denethor shrugged. "It says that the Númenóreans started to hunt other men like swine. I don't believe it."

"No?"

"Why should they?" the boy asked.

Thengel sat down beside Denethor. "I think the Númenóreans began to think pretty highly of themselves and pretty lowly of others."

"If I were them, I'd prefer to hunt dragons, like the one that destroyed Lake-town. King Bard doesn't know how lucky he was by half. Grandfather says Smaug was the last firedrake in Middle-earth, as far as anyone knows. The Lakemen didn't sound very happy about him, but I think it would've been exciting to see the last dragon."

"Smaug destroyed their homes, my lad, and many of them lost their friends."

Denethor shrugged. "They have all that gold now. They can build whatever they like. It's a pity they killed it."

Thengel smothered a smile. He would have felt exactly the same way when he was a boy. "How so?"

"Well," Denethor droned in that way of his before he started on a long speech, much like his grandfather, Turgon. "Grandfather says that if the orcs come to murder us all in our beds then Rohirrim have to come to our aid."

"That is true, but you've lost me."

"That would take a long time, wouldn't it? Because the beacons would have to be lit and all the soldiers would have to prepare for the journey. And it takes days to ride here. But if we had a dragon we could try to tame it and teach it to gobble up all the orcs and Haradrim if they were stupid enough to attack a country with its own dragon."

"Suppose they got ahold of the dragon themselves?"

Denethor's eyebrows drooped in concentration. "They would have to get through us first, which they haven't managed to do because of Father. And you."

Thengel patted Denethor on the back. "Well, it's an interesting idea, my boy. Smaug seemed beyond training, though. Speaking of dragons," Thengel slipped the book to Denethor. "Give that a read. It should be hair-raising."

Denethor turned the book over in his hands. "What's it about?"

"Tuor the great adventurer."

Denethor wrinkled his nose. "Are there talking animals?"

"None whatever. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with your father. Run along, will you?"

"Okay."

"He's as fanciful as his mother," Ecthelion muttered once the boy left the room. "All this talk of dragons and giant eagles and skin shifters has turned his head. I can't get him to focus at all on important matters. He just sulks."

"There's time for that," Thengel intervened. "At his age, I'd steal a horse and disappear for whole days when I wanted to avoid my tutor."

Ecthelion raised an eyebrow, which was intersected by a scar he had earned in Ithilien. Thengel stood next to him to study the map too. Small pieces of sea glass were spread over the surface, congregating in key places. Dol Amroth, Pelargir, Minas Tirith, Osgiliath, Ithilien.

"What's this?"

"The Steward has commanded a sweep of Ithilien. He wants to know if more orcs are massing in Morder and where their hidey-holes are on the west side of the mountains. That's all very well, but if we start to poke at their nests we'll have to answer for it. My thought is to pull away Dagnir's company from Pelargir to Osgiliath. Then we would have ready support if a threat should arrive in either direction," Ecthelion explained.

Thengel tapped the image of double sabers below the Anduin. "And if the Haradrim attempt the crossing at Poros again? Can the southern coast afford to wait for troupes from Pelargir and Osgiliath? They would raze Lossarnach first thing to cut off our food supply. No farms, no army."

"The Haradrim have been quiet ever since your uncles licked them at Poros crossing."

"And ships from Umbar? The pirates grow bolder in the spring."

Ecthelion crossed his arms as he considered the question. "Prince Angelimir can contend with the corsairs," he said finally. "It isn't often he allows them past the delta of Anduin anyway. Keeps all the sport for himself in open waters. At least, I hope his son will convince him of that when he arrives there."

"Is Prince Adrahil planning to leave Minas Tirith?" Thengel asked, thinking instantly of Morwen.

"When last I spoke to him, yes. His wife is poorly and no air is better than Dol Amroth air for the invalid." Ecthelion didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Better air, better soldiers, better everything. Let that be a lesson to you, Thengel. Get an elf in your family tree and you too can be superior to everyone."

Thengel shrugged. "I'm not that ambitious, Ecthelion. Besides, I thought all you needed was Númenórean blood for that." He winked. "I'm just a Northman myself."

Ecthelion scratched the back of his neck, diffusing. "All right, I sound like an ass."

"Yes, but I'll forgive you, at least as long as you promise not to hunt me."

"Are you afraid of being hunted?"

"Only by my sister." He tapped on the map below Minas Tirith. "Now. What about the company from Lossarnach? If they return to the eastern march, then we have no need to lessen the defense of Pelargir. The Haradrim might be quiet now, but it wouldn't take long for them to learn that the defense has slackened in the south."

"We've never used Hardang's company during the planting season," Ecthelion dismissed off hand, "not if we want to eat."

"These aren't men who have gone back to their farms, my friend. I spoke to them myself while I was there. They need something to do besides occupy peaceful orchards."

"Orchards?"

"Orchards."

Ecthelion turned and half-perched on the table. "There's a story in that."

"I'll explain later. I'm telling you now that these men have personally asked me to find a place for them. I've brought Adan with me if you want more details."

Ecthelion considered this for a time, staring into nothing. Then he asked, "Who would lead them now that Hardang's dead?"

"I could."

"You? Don't make me laugh. Thengel, you have other worries. I've been informed not to take advantage of your zeal for Gondor's security."

"Who said so?"

"My father and your uncle both."

Thengel made a noise between a growl and a groan. "How long have they been in league against me?"

"As soon as the Marshal arrived. It's not helping that you've avoided the Steward's chair. Father's put out with you," Ecthelion reached behind him and added beads from a nearby pouch to the pile in in Osgiliath and moved still more to Pelargir. "All right, say we bring a company from the south. Why all the interest in Lossarnach now, by the by?"

"I spent a week with Hardang's family." Then he asked, "You knew Lord Randir?"

Ecthelion looked surprised by the question. "Randir? Of course. Good man. Not a soldier though. Why?"

"I never met him."

"You arrived in Minas Tirith a few years after he quitted the city. He always did lock himself in a hole somewhere to read or write when he did come to town to work for my father. I remember when he married Hirwen. Father was angry to lose him, but it couldn't be helped. It was a terrible shame when he died. I was in Pelargir at the time and didn't get back till he was already buried. His wife died some years ago, but he has a daughter. She must be, I don't know, fifteen or sixteen now?"

"Lady Morwen is a little older than that, Ecthelion. Closer to twenty, I think."

"Twenty?" A smug look spread over Ecthelion's face, which Thengel didn't like. "Met her, did you?"

"Yes. I was her guest after Guthere's injury." He tried to imagine that same tableau playing out, only this time in Idhren's drawing room. Impossible! She would never allow anyone to bleed on her furniture. It still amazed him how Morwen and her household had taken it in stride. He wished better things for them than what Halmir had in store. They deserved better.

"Pretty?"

"Lossarnach?"

"Lady Morwen, you sod."

"Oh. Yes. She is."

"Unmarried?"

Thengel swallowed. Was she? Adan would have told him if Halmir had succeeded in bullying her into a wedding. "I believe so."

Ecthelion gave him a strange look. "You think so? Well, don't tell Idhren. She's rabid to help your sister fix you up. Thick as thieves, those two. Nothing would make her happier than to see you married. Typical woman."

Thengel shook his head. More than once he had been in the confidence of both of his friends and it still surprised him how little they sometimes understood the thoughts and motives of the other. As for himself, he felt relieved that Ecthelion's eyes returned on the map so that his discomfort went unnoticed.

"She is more than fifteen years my junior, Ecthelion."

"No one is safe in these matters. As long as she's a woman and breathing then she's eligible. Why, the fools thought Lady Iarwen a possible match."

Thengel opened his mouth to explain Idhren's rouse, but thought better of it. Ecthelion would hardly find it interesting.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you in Ithilien?" he asked, sounding choked.

Ecthelion straightened up and grinned. It made him look boyish like his son. "I wish I could help you, my friend, but the Powers That Be have already decided your doom. I must obey."

"I should have become a pirate while I had the chance," Thengel grumbled.

"You and me both." Ecthelion shook Thengel's hand. "Look, come back tonight. We're having supper with King Bard's deputies, informal and all that. You should meet them before the feast - especially the Dwarf. He's…tetchy."

Thengel sighed. "If I must."

"You must. Captain's orders. More importantly, Idhren will never forgive you if you don't and I need you to keep her in a good mood. I have to tell her that I'm cutting my leave short."

Thengel grimaced. When did it become his job to keep Ecthelion's family in order? He was learning a lot today about what Idhren may or may not have forgiven him for, but Ecthelion was the least proper person to talk to about that. His head still reeled from the revelation that Idhren might have married him fifteen years ago if he'd asked. Sure, there had been a spark there, but once he knew that Ecthelion was in love with her too, he'd backed down. It would have been impossible anyway. Idhren, queen of Rohan? No. He wasn't in love with her now and hadn't been for years, but the thought still didn't sit comfortably. It was impossible that she would have married Ecthelion while still harboring some secret affection for him. Of course it was.

His fingers itched for his sword and the shades of Ithilien where life was simpler. Harder, but simpler. He was reminded of his original errand.

"I've left Adan waiting too long. He'll be pleased to hear that he can return to Ithilien soon with the rest of his company. First, though, I want you to officially assign him to me."

"What for?"

"I recruited him to help me with a small matter against the wishes of Lord Halmir. I promised Adan protection."

Ecthelion's expression darkened. "That's a bad job, Thengel."

"I know."

"What are the particulars?"

"It's not for me to say. I wouldn't have done it if is wasn't necessary. Now Adan needs a new place."

Ecthelion crossed his arms. "And will this come back to bite me if I agree? I'm not in the mood for a diplomatic flap with Lossarnach."

"I don't think Lord Halmir will want to go against you. Do you know him at all?"

"No. Does he have a military bent?"

"None whatever," Thengel muttered.

"That explains it, then." Ecthelion thought for a while. "Do whatever you like. If Adan wishes to serve you, fine. If he has a taste for blood, send him to Seregon in Osgiliath. Satisfactory?"

Thengel bowed his head. "I'm in your debt."

"Well, who's keeping score?"

"You are."

The skin around Ecthelion's eyes crinkled with humor. "Extending one's friends a little credit is good policy. There will always be a day when you need to call in those favors. Keep that in mind when you're king."

Thengel groaned. "I've had enough of that talk these past weeks. I'm half-tempted to resign."

"Don't you dare," Ecthelion warned. "I've been working on you for twenty years. I don't want to start over on statecraft with some other stiff-necked horse lord. It's bad enough we've this new King Bard and the Dwarf king too, stirring up orcs and dragons and elves and Valar know what else for us to clean up after."

"I wouldn't want to make more work for you," Thengel said wryly.

"Good man."

The bell announced another visitor to the house and the sinking feeling in Thengel's gut informed him that it was probably Wynflaed.

"Better wait a minute to let her settle in with Idhren before you go," Ecthelion advised, reading Thengel's mind. Wynflaed must have become a daily fixture if Ecthelion had noticed her. "Or you could slip out the back and climb the garden wall. It wouldn't be the first time."

Thengel rolled his eyes. "I haven't done that in eighteen years."

In the end, he left by the front door. The sentinels, if they noticed anything, might have observed that his pace was a little quicker than usual.