AN: See bottom of chapter for updated character list, because unwieldy cast. Also, apologies for extra amount of typos. I didn't get a chance to print this chapter for edits. I also don't know if coffee was agriculturally or politically feasible in Gondor, but if I'm wrong I don't wanna be right.
Adrahil was waiting for Morwen in the breakfast room late the next morning. She caught him mid yawn while trying to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"Excuse me," he drawled. "Coffee?"
"Please."
She accepted a mug from him and took her seat at the table. "No Aranel yet?"
"Not yet. I'm surprised to see you up already. Toast?"
"No, thank you." She wrapped her fingers around the steaming coffee and breathed in the nutty fragrance. It was expensive and hard to come by, so she never kept any in the valley. "I couldn't sleep."
He shrugged. "That's going around," he dryly. "Too many late night adventures."
Aranel had not died on the curb or in her bed - or at all, in fact. This information Morwen had this first hand from Adrahil upon her arrival in the house in the early hours of the morning when she had walked into the middle of a family dispute. Lord Belehir was insisting that his wife would go home and Adrahil was insisting that she certainly wouldn't stay. In the midst of this, Lady Rían insisted she would see her daughter.
Morwen was only grateful that she and Prince Thengel had decided to part ways on the doorstep, so that he wasn't also a witness to the melodrama. It was plain that everyone inside the house had forgotten all about her while pursuing their own ends. Morwen could tell by the way each of them gaped when the servant led her in.
Her appearance had a somewhat diffusing effect on the trio, which she decided was fortunate. Lady Rían, perhaps realizing her error and not being able to withstand the renewed energy behind her son-in-law's glare, had allowed her husband to escort her out of the house shortly after Morwen entered it. She heard the full account of the evening from Adrahil while they trudged up to their bedrooms. That felt far too recent for Morwen's liking, but it was very nearly noon.
"I am sorry you weren't able to see the Steward last night," he said as he buttered a piece for himself. "It wasn't the best evening for you, overall."
"That isn't true," Morwen told him. "I did enjoy many things about last night. And Prince Thengel said he would speak to Turgon for me, so that settles that."
Adrahil stopped mid bite and let the toast dangle in front of his mouth. "He did?"
"He thought it would be faster," she said into her coffee. "Besides, he is a principal witness to Halmir's behavior."
"That may be." Then Adrahil said, "About last night. How did you make it home after we left?"
"Thengel. Again."
"Thengel?" He dropped his toast on the tablecloth jam side down. He spoke as he unstuck the bread from the linen. "Really? Listen, Morwen, before Aranel comes down, I…"
"Before what?" Aranel asked as she entered. She wore her housecoat and her hair fell over her shoulder in a simple braid.
Adrahil shoved the toast in his mouth.
"You're getting crumbs all over your clothes." Aranel poured herself some coffee and gave his appearance a critical scan.
Adrahil brushed himself off. He chewed and then cleared his throat. "Morwen was just telling me an interesting piece of news about Prince Thengel. It would seem that she did not come home on her own last night. Instead, she had a nice long walk with Prince Thengel."
Aranel's puzzled gaze flickered between her husband and her cousin. "What do you mean? Of course Morwen wasn't on her own. She came home with my parents as we arranged. Didn't you Morwen?"
Morwen felt like sinking into the ground. "You were in bed when I came home," was all she said.
Aranel down sat stiffly, a grave expression on her face, and waited.
"Your mother forgot about me, I think. But it's all right," Morwen spoke quickly as Aranel's eyes rounded. "Lady Idhren suggested Prince Thengel walk me back and look — I'm just fine."
"Mother left you behind. Lady Idhren sent you home with the Prince." She crumpled a napkin in her hands, the only sign of her foundering temper. "I see."
"I'm sure Lady Rían was just distracted by her worry for you," Morwen told her apologetically.
"I am aware of that, Morwen." Aranel sipped her coffee, thinking. "And what are your thoughts on this, Adrahil?"
"About your mother?"
"About the inconvenience this caused for Prince Thengel."
Morwen started to protest, but they weren't paying her any attention.
"Oh, he's making this very easy for me," Adrahil congratulated himself. "He's to speak to Turgon, too."
"And what are you going to do?" Aranel pressed.
Adrahil leaned back in his chair. "Me?"
Aranel tapped the tabletop. "Direct action, I think, is what we need here. I've thought about it after we missed our opportunity last night. You should ride back to Lossarnach and tell Halmir his behavior will not be tolerated any further or else Belfalas will have something to say about his conduct." She frowned. "And to prove that my advice is sound, I am going to follow it to my mother's house today. Last night will not repeat itself."
Adrahil looked concerned. "If that's what you think is best - about your mother, I mean."
"I do. I should have done it a year ago." She gave Morwen a smile. "You see, your coming here and delaying our trip has done us some good. Adrahil and I were pretending that if we slipped out of the city and hid in Dol Amroth, that it would solve things with my overbearing mother. Well, reality has come home to roost. Next it's going to be your turn to try it on Halmir."
"But I was always direct with Halmir," Morwen said, feeling defensive. She couldn't help it if he refused to listen. "Beldir said that this is a difficult case because Halmir feels he has some rights. What if he doesn't listen to Adrahil either?"
"Then you will come with us to Dol Amroth," Aranel said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"That's all very well for me, but what about my household? I'm responsible to them."
Would Halmir keep any of them on? Would they want to stay? Where would they go? She thought of poor Hareth, who was born in Ithilien in the days when the rangers were actively clearing the forest. She'd already lost one home and now to have another one disappear.
Then Morwen remembered Guthere. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult a change for Hareth. Though what her son, Gundor, would think, Morwen didn't know.
Maybe Gildis would come with her? She had followed Hirwen from Arnach, after all. Ioneth would find some goat herder or woodcutter to marry.
What to do with Beldir? Halmir's plans would hit him the hardest. She couldn't see Halmir tolerating the overseer, and vice versa. And with the orchard compromised, what would he have to do? Adrahil had looked into her affairs and she had some money that she could use to help them, but not much was left when she considered the cost of setting up a new life for herself far away in Belfalas.
"Don't worry. We'll think of something," Adrahil assured her. "First, let's hear what the Steward has to say. Then I'll come to Lossarnach like Aranel suggests."
"What about Aranel?"
Aranel winked at Morwen. "I've lived in Minas Tirith without Adrahil for twenty-four years," she answered. "I think I can manage a week or two without him."
"My bloom must be fading if that's the case."
"Not a bit."
Adrahil smiled fondly at Aranel as he rose from his seat. "Well, if I'm to go to Lossarnach, I'd better see to some business on the Harlond and write to my father," he told them. "I'll see you both at dinner."
After he left them alone, Aranel helped herself to some fruit and toast. "So, Morwen, aside from being neglected by your friends and relations, how did you pass the evening? Adrahil said you were dancing with Prince Thengel when we left. It seems he is the theme of the night."
"No," said Morwen. A thought struck her. "We never seem to dance."
Aranel set down the butter knife she was using and looked at Morwen carefully. "Then what did you do?"
Morwen related the events of the evening. Aranel seemed stuck on the part where they had left Merethrond together, spiriting away into Lady Idhren's garden.
"He spent a week under my roof, Aranel. I don't see why one evening conferring together in private should raise any concern about my conduct – or his." Though she tried to appreciate it, Morwen felt her cousins' protectiveness beginning to stifle her - particularly after Thengel had challenged her yielding behavior the night before.
"I'm not certain if I should be thankful or concerned, Morwen," Aranel said lightly as she poured more coffee. "I do believe you are taking your opportunities for granted."
"I am not. He offered to speak to Steward Turgon for me. That's a positive stride, I think."
Aranel set down her coffee cup, staring down into it. She opened her mouth and then quickly shut it again. Then she scrutinized the butter dish. Finally, she shook her head and offered Morwen a piece of toast.
"Have I do something wrong?" Morwen asked.
"No," Aranel answered wearily. "I don't think you could do anything wrong if you wanted to. That's your fatal flaw."
"I don't understand."
"Some women might have taken advantage of a nice, long walk in a moonlit night with a young ma." She added, "I've been subtle with you about the degree of your friendship with Prince Thengel. Do you think of him as anything other than your messenger to the Steward?"
Morwen bristled at the note of censure she detected in Aranel's voice. "He is a friend." When Aranel gave her a dissatisfied look, Morwen added, "And he offered his help. I didn't ask for it."
"He seems quite gallant toward you, Morwen. There are some who might also call him handsome. And you are certainly very pretty. Two strong inducements toward, you know, interest."
"Aranel, you are mistaking kindness for something else," Morwen warned her. This was beginning to feel suspiciously like some of the conversations she had had with Halmir. She thought he was paranoid. But if Aranel thought so? She wanted to tuck these thoughts away for later. It was like receiving a letter. She recognized with interest the hand that had written the address, but she wasn't ready to read the contents.
"I would have to observe you together to really know. It could be possible. Don't you like him?"
Morwen considered this. Prince Thengel was certainly a change from the standard tall, dark Gondorians.
"I like his eyes," she decided. "He is kind and he has seen and done a great deal, which makes him interesting."
"What about, I don't know, his crown?"
"He wasn't wearing one," Morwen muttered.
Aranel looked her in the eyes. Morwen felt a challenge in them. "He will one day. It's a little difficult to separate the man from the mantle."
"I suppose so." Morwen rolled some breadcrumbs that had fallen onto the table with her finger while she thought about it. "He doesn't make a show of it. He prefers for people to think of him as Ecthelion's lieutenant rather than the crown prince of Rohan."
"How do you know?"
Morwen shrugged. "It's more a feeling. When we were together in Lossarnach, he barely spoke of his home. The way he cuts his hair, the way he dresses, is all very Gondorian in style. Haven't you noticed? He looks very little like his men, except in coloring, which is odd, because I think he's very fond of Cenhelm and Thurstan and Guthere. He makes himself appear other to them."
"He has spent half his life in Gondor. It would be hard for him not to assimilate after so long."
Morwen considered Aranel's observations. She had thought the same when they were walking to Anorian's well. Home was an important thing. What would it do to a person who could never settle in somewhere? He might have been born the Prince of Rohan, but now she suspected events had shaped him into a person nobody had expected.
"Well, it looks like you'll be staying with us a little while longer," said Aranel, letting the subject of the Prince drop. "What do you want to do today? I would invite you to come to my mother's but I don't think either of us really want that, given the topic of discussion."
Morwen suppressed a shudder. She didn't want to see Rían in high dudgeon while her daughter asserted her rights as a full-grown woman. And Morwen had business of her own to tend to.
"I want to visit the Warden. Nanneth sent me with instructions for replenishing her stock and I have yet to see my parents' memorial in the garden."
Aranel nodded. "Very well. I'll accompany you there on my way to my mother's once I've dressed."
…
Morwen and Aranel parted company on the greensward encircling the Houses of Healing. Four fair towers rose in a quad and were enclosed by shining white walls; which concealed the only beauty the city had to boast, in Morwen's opinion, a thriving, well-tended garden. The shadow of decay that covered Minas Tirith hadn't fallen where so much green dwelled.
An attendant greeted her when she stepped into the propylaeum connecting the foremost towers. He wore the traditional gray garb associated with the Houses and spoke in a hushed tone.
"Would you please inform the Warden that I have arrived?"
The attendant gave her a benign smile. "Is the Warden expecting you, my lady?"
"No, but he will want to see me. Tell him it's Morwen of Lossarnach. I have a list of supplies. Would you give it to him?"
"I will take it to him myself, Lady Morwen," he said, bending at the waist. "Will you wait in the atrium?"
"Thank you, I'll wait in the garden."
The attendant retreated down the line of columns into the northwest tower. When he was gone, Morwen retraced her memory down flagstone paths southward toward the door leading to the outer wall. An open arcade of white stone butted up to the back of the south-facing towers and framed the garden. Morwen breathed deeply as she stepped inside. She loved the well-tended paths and the cool quiet that pervaded the shaded lawns. Healing would come to anyone here, she thought, given time.
Silence, save for the rustle of leaves in a breeze or the twitter of a bird, lay over the grounds like a soothing blanket. Morwen passed a few of the residents who were able to enjoy the garden. They sat deep in thought on benches or asleep in their chairs. She moved quietly around the clear pools that had tempted her as a child, toward the terraced beds that rose to the top of the wall. Nobody minded her.
Her parents' memorial trees were planted in the southern quadrant where the benefits of light and air were the best, just as the Warden had promised Morwen in his letters last year. A simple cairn of sea-smoothed stones from Belfalas's shores sat between the trees, marking the bed's significance. That had been Adrahil's touch.
Morwen squinted against the prickling behind her eyes. The cairn touched her more than she realized it would. Her memories of a long ago trip to Dol Amroth were mere shadows of childhood, but the fief had been a part of her father's identity.
Seeing the trees felt like seeing her own children. Morwen grew warm with affection at the sight of their light new leaves and clean bark. The gardeners had taken great care with them and the dark soil beneath their bases felt cool and well-watered.
"There you are, child, fingers deep in the mud again."
Morwen rose to her feet to greet the Warden with a little laugh at herself. He was broad man with a deep chest and silver hair tied back in a queue. His robes, despite the fashion, did not sweep the ground. One never knew what might be on the floor of the Houses.
She felt surprised to see he had a companion with him - none other than Lord Daeron. He smiled at her quizzically, providing her with a handkerchief to wipe her hands.
"What a pleasant surprise."
"Have you met Lord Daeron, my child?"
"We have," he answered for her. "Ours is a short acquaintance, but I hope we can remedy that."
Morwen felt momentarily at a loss at seeing him. She wanted to apologize, but didn't know how in front of the Warden.
"I hope so," she said lamely.
The Warden rocked back on his heels, a habit Morwen was familiar with. "Good, well, that saves me an introduction. I have your list from Nanneth, my dear. It will take a little time to put everything together. Where shall I instruct my steward to send the parcels?"
"To Prince Angelimir's home, please."
"Good. Now, how is my dear friend Nanneth?" He turned to Daeron. "We were students together under Warden Ardemin many years ago. She had the greatest gift for healing out of all his pupils. Too bad she wouldn't stay at the Houses. She insisted on returning to her little valleys and flowering vales."
"That is very good for us," Morwen replied. Then she recounted the resent surgery Nanneth had performed on Guthere, or as much of it as she could tell. He seemed very keen on all the parts that made her especially squeamish.
"And all on a plain wooden table with probably less than satisfactory lighting. Most impressive! I wonder if I could persuade her to write it up the procedure for us? Perhaps I should send a student down. I don't suppose you could…." The Warden glanced at the memorial trees and Morwen understood. "Well, listen to me carrying on. This must be the first time you've seen your apple trees since last summer." He shook his head. "Terrible loss."
"I think my parents would be pleased with them," she assured him. "They look healthy and happy."
"Happy? How can you tell?" Lord Daeron asked.
Morwen blinked at him in surprise. She had never had to vocalize it before. "Well, look at how the leaves and branches just reach up to the sun like nothing could be more delightful."
He squinted at the trees. "Yes, I see."
She didn't think he did, but allowed it to pass.
"Forgive me if I sound scheming, child," the Warden broke in. "But since we're talking of your parents, I want to mention a special project we've begun in partnership with the Archives that I spoke to Randir about some two years ago. I've just been telling Daeron all about it."
"Oh? I don't recall my father mentioning any special project."
"Back then we had hardly begun. Let me see, it's been three years since Master Uldor approached me about the possibility of a seed library. We are in the preliminary stages now."
"What is a seed library?" Morwen asked.
"The seed library is quite simple in concept. It has two goals. One is to preserve Gondor's native plants. Two, we wish to educate our citizens about the cultivation and preservation of our native flora, with a few special items included, such as your Hyarnustar Gold hybrid. It is one of the few plant samples we have with any ancestry from Númenórean flora. I convinced your father to provide us with seedlings from your orchard. I had hoped to show him the results this year, but alas."
"He never told me," she said.
The Warden lifted his upturned palms. "Well, it's still very preliminary, as I said. Maybe the thought nothing would come of it. The cultivation and educational aspect requires more attention and not a little funding. The Houses have limited space for more flowerbeds and of course the gardens are here for the benefit of our patients, not the general public. Under Master Uldor's direction, the Archive's trustees authorized the purchase of a small warehouse in the first circle with the purpose of broadening the scope our project to include a public garden in or near Minas Tirith."
Morwen imagined such a garden. "How wonderful!"
The Warden clasped his hands behind his back, looking pleased. "I would like to show you our progress on the project, but I am afraid you are pressed for time. I am taking Daeron down now. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day will suit you better?"
"I'm curious to see what you've done, especially if you say my father was involved. My afternoon is my own and I may be leaving the city shortly. I will go with you now, if Lord Daeron doesn't mind?"
Daeron bowed. "Nothing would give me more pleasure."
"Good, good," said the Warden. "I'll order a cart."
…
The warehouse resembled a large tool shed. Tools, trays, pots, bags of dirt, were hung on the wall or tucked onto shelves. It smelled musty, of dirt and compost. One wall was covered in banks of wooden drawers, carefully labeled. The Warden called it their seed catalog.
"How have you managed all this?" Daeron asked the Warden.
"Master Uldor found the warehouse and we have shared the expense. Fortunately, most of our stock has been donated and we're only burdened with the cost of supplies and of staffing it. For that we have had to rely on a few sturdy lads and lasses from the Pelennor. We are only now beginning to realize that we from Minas Tirith don't know what we don't know about gardening." He laughed to himself. "But you will judge for yourself if we are having any success."
The Warden led them through to the back of the warehouse, which opened into a desolate courtyard with a water pump at the center. A glass lean-to stood propped against the building. The Warden ushered Morwen inside. Before her, three rows of work benches ran in parallel lines down the length of the green house, one on each side of the wall and another down the middle. Rows of seedlings in wooden trays covered every surface, except for a sink. Even that had a stiff, green stalks poking out over the chipped rim where someone had left a shrub to drain.
Morwen almost cooed. Without waiting for her companions, she swept down the rows and brushed the tops of soft yet spikey green stems of herbs and flowers. Each tray had a simple label. Thymes, sages, marjorams, parsleys, saxifrages, stonecrops, primeroles, anemones, asphodel. The Warden had already recruited help from Ithilien, she gathered.
"Where will they go once they're ready for planting?" she called over her shoulder. "Surely there isn't a plot anywhere within the city walls that could contain as many plants as you plan to have growing once they're ready for the ground."
"That is the question, isn't it? We are looking into buying acreage on the Pelennor."
Morwen concealed her contempt as best she could. "Have you considered other options besides the Pelennor? It seems crowded with farms and homesteads as it is."
"Nothing is decided. The location will depend, of course, on the funding we receive from our donors. That's where Lord Daeron comes in, I'm afraid."
Daeron grinned. "If only you had approached me a year ago. I'm sorry, my friend. I've been funding another project and a second one is out of my power for the time being."
The Warden shrugged, a veteran campaigner when it came to patronage. "I'll take that as a definite maybe. Lady Morwen, perhaps you can help me persuade him?"
Morwen smiled beatifically. "It is a worthy cause, Lord Daeron. One that will have value for generations to come."
Daeron laughed, chagrined. "This isn't playing fair, Warden."
The Warden rocked back and forth on his feet with a pleased look on his face. "I know."
Morwen returned to the Wardens side and held out her hands to him. He took them in his own. "I promise to continue whatever my father began. This city needs more green! We'll see, but I'm sure Lord Daeron will do whatever he can — once it's in his power again."
"Thank you, Lady Morwen," Daeron replied, with relief.
"You've let him off the hook in such a gracious manner that I find I can no longer tease him," said the Warden, shaking his head. "Remind me not to invite you to any of our fundraising dinners. "
"I'm sorry," she laughed. "I'll make it up to you by securing Adrahil's patronage. Who knows? Maybe the Keeper of the Keys will open his purse to you after his son-in-law has."
The Warden grinned. "Well, that would answer very well."
"Now I'm beginning to feel left out," Daeron complained, though his eyes sparkled. "I suppose I could scrape something together for you, Warden."
The Warden's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he winked at Morwen. "I'll take that as a promise, my lord." They shook hands.
The peel of city bells tolling the hour startled Morwen. She hadn't been able to hear them inside the warehouse. More time had passed since they left the Houses than she realized. "I told Aranel that I would be back for supper."
"I had better take my leave too, before I promise anything else," Daeron quipped. "Allow me to see you home."
"Thank you," she said. "Good afternoon, Warden."
"Good afternoon, child. If you are as successful with the princes of Dol Amroth as you have been with Lord Daeron, I expect we'll break ground by this time next year."
…
The Warden chose to remain behind in the warehouse to speak with the gardeners there, so the cart belonging to the Houses remained for his use. Morwen didn't mind the walk, though the afternoon sun beat down on the unprotected streets. It always felt so much warmer in Minas Tirith than it did in her shaded valley.
In the lower circles, wagons and carts were permitted, carrying cargo and wares throughout the market streets. Pedestrians kept to the raised walks on either side of the broad lanes. They passed the Old Inn and taverns beyond the warehouses that lined the street closest to the first gate. Morwen enjoyed the brief moment of shade inside the gate leading toward the second circle.
"I'm glad we have a chance to talk alone, Lord Daeron."
His eyebrows lifted as he looked down at her. "Yes?"
"I want to apologize for last night. My friend and I did not treat you very well after our dance ended."
"Prince Thengel, you mean?" His voice lowered.
"Yes."
Daeron gave her a pinched smile. "Well, never mind that. Princes will have their way without regard to others. That is their privilege."
She couldn't quite approve of his attitude, but on reflection, it hadn't been wrong.
"And now you've promised the Warden a gift for the Houses when you clearly said you couldn't presently."
He laughed self-deprecatingly. "You shouldn't apologize for my weakness where pretty women are concerned. Besides, it's a happy chance I met you at the Houses. You see I have my own confession to make."
Morwen's heart beat a little faster. "A confession?"
"Yes. As soon as I heard your name announced last night I had to make your acquaintance, Lady Morwen."
"Why?"
"Because of ulterior motives, naturally," he said with a laugh. "I am a friend of your cousin's."
"I know," she replied. "Adrahil introduced us."
"I meant your other cousin. Halmir," he replied with amusement.
"Oh!" Morwen felt as if her entire body had plunged into an icy spring. For a moment, the street seemed to tilt. He reached for her arm.
He looked concerned. "Are you all right? Is it the heat?"
"I'm fine," she breathed. "Let's walk a little faster, please."
"Of course." But he didn't move. "I hope I didn't offend you by joking about ulterior motives."
"Lord Daeron, it's getting late," she insisted.
"I merely wished to say that I've heard that congratulations are in order and I wanted to wish you joy. After all, any friend of Halmir's…"
Morwen stared. "What do you mean?"
Daeron chuckled until he realized she wasn't sharing in the joke. "Good lord, it isn't a secret, is it?" he asked.
"Please tell me what you mean."
"Well," he ran his fingers through the back of his hair, looking ruffled. "Hal confided in me that you and he were soon to be married soon. I have it in writing - though it dates from many weeks ago – before he left for Lossarnach. I thought by now, surely…"
"As a friend, Lord Daeron, please, I must advise you to take anything Halmir says with a grain of salt."
Daeron blinked. Two pink patches appeared high on his cheeks. "Then he hasn't asked you yet? I'm terribly sorry. What a blunder." He laughed. "You'll pardon me, I hope."
"On the contrary, Halmir did ask," she said, growing irritated. "Sort of."
He looked puzzled. "But you said you were not engaged."
"I am not." Couldn't a man get it into his head that he might ask a woman and she might very well refuse him? Their sense of entitlement left her nearly vibrating with anger.
"So," said Daeron slowly, "you aren't considering it?"
Morwen felt icy shards in her stomach. Daeron had gone from impertinent to intrusive. What business was it of his? She didn't have to lay out the details of her life for him just because Halmir had no scruples.
"No."
Was it her imagination or did his hand on her arm feel like a vice?
"And the orchard then? I thought, well."
Oh no, Morwen groaned inwardly, realizing belatedly that this friend of Halmir's was so much more. Daeron hadn't specified what project he was funding during their conversation with the Warden, but it was now painfully obvious she'd fallen into the clutches of one of Halmir's investors. Now this investor was feeling her out for information. Did it worry him that she hadn't accepted Halmir? It ought to. She would not surrender to her cousin's plans and this man might well lose his money if Halmir didn't return it. But ought she to tell Lord Daeron that? No, it would be imprudent. And as great as her anger toward Halmir had grown, she didn't want to purposefully stir up trouble with his friends.
"Nothing has changed in that respect," she said as firmly as possible, despite her shaken nerves.
"Ah, I rely on report, I'm afraid. Halmir, I know, is a rabid advocate for the place. Did he tell you much of his scheme?"
She took a deep breath and answered calmly, "Yes."
"And what did you think?"
She smiled beatifically at him. "Lord Daeron, I thought you invited me to take a walk, not a business meeting?"
He smiled back but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. How stupid of me." He let go over her arm.
They passed through the third gate and it seemed that her companion had left any relish he felt for her company and conversation back in the second circle. Frankly, so had she. She felt herself trembling with agitation. Without stepping one foot in the city, Halmir had still managed to catch up with her. Now Morwen's thoughts bent only toward shaking off her cousin's foil. She watched his profile, trying to gauge his mood.
Daeron's eyes bored straight ahead. His lips had relaxed into a resting frown, but his nostrils flared now and again as if a passing thought grated his senses. She believed she could read his mind, especially if his plans and finances were tied up with Halmir. Morwen would have felt sorry for him if fear wasn't the prevailing emotion she had to contend with.
"Lord Daeron, if you have somewhere else you need to be, I can make it home on my own," she said. "Adrahil thinks I'm his helpless country cousin, but I will be fine."
Lord Daeron got a gleam in his eye. "Helpless country cousin?" He smoothed his tunic down. "Who would think that?"
"It is a foolish notion to think that country folk are helpless in the city, but I believe it's a general prejudice," she told him in a tone as light as she could make it. "Adrahil has never seen me wield an ax or he would feel better about my chances," she continued thoughtfully.
"An ax? You?" He looked her up and down, perhaps wondering where she kept the muscle for it.
She forced a smile. "There's a quaint saying in Imloth Melui that some babies play with rattles, but ours with axes."
"Really? How…um. Well, it's useful for clearing trees."
"Not mine," she said sweetly. "None of my trees are going anywhere."
He finally seemed to get the answer he had waiting for. "Lady Morwen, do you have a notion of when Halmir plans to return to Minas Tirith?" he asked with a calm that belied his interests.
"Not a notion in the world," she said airily. "What he does is no concern of mine."
"I see," Daeron said darkly.
Morwen felt certain that he did see and that gave her a sense of urgency to part company as soon as possible. To think she had thought him handsome! All he had to do was show a little interest in her direction for her to completely let down her guard. She had felt entirely charmed as soon as he'd mentioned her father's poetry. And she'd even thought he felt interested in her. Yet all the while Daeron had been circling her like a dog worrying about the bone its master had left on the table.
"Fool," she grumbled under her breath.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing," she replied.
…
An opportunity to shake off Lord Daeron appeared unexpectedly across the street in the form of a stocky Rohirric warrior. He leaned against the storefront belonging to a leather merchant, his arms crossed over his chest. He was squinting at the sun reflecting off the Tower many circles above with a look of disapproving suspicion she had come to recognize.
"Oh!" she cried. "There's Cenhelm."
"What?" Daeron asked, looking around.
"Thank you for walking me this far. I'll just step across the way to meet him. No need to come along. I'll be all right now. Goodbye!"
She left Daeron standing bewildered on the curb while she dashed between carts to where Cenhelm waited, oblivious to her. He didn't notice her until she appeared right at his elbow. He startled when she spoke.
"Hello, Cenhelm."
Cenhelm cringed when he noticed her. He began to back away with his hands raised as if to ward her off. "Lady Morwen…"
"How nice to see you again." She looked across the street to see Daeron watching them. She slipped her hand around his elbow.
"Er…" Cenhelm's gaze dropped down to her hand then followed her eyes across the street. "Are you well?"
"I will be when that gentleman turns down the street. Ah. There. He's going."
Cenhelm kept looking over his own shoulder at the shop window behind them. He seemed uneasy, though Morwen thought maybe her own feelings were clouding her perception. She let go of his arm once Daeron was completely out of view.
"Good. He's gone. I'll just see myself home. Oh, by the way, Guthere is very well…"
The shop door opened. Cenhelm winced again.
"Cenhelm, who is this?" A large, generously bearded man of Rohirric look had just stepped out of the shop and joined them on the curb. He looked vaguely familiar to her eye but whenever she thought she recognized a feature or expression, it disappeared. And he scrutinized her with equal curiosity. "Well, Cenhelm?"
Cenhelm cleared his throat and said glumly, "Lady Morwen of Lossarnach, my lord."
"Now why does that sound familiar?"
"I told you," Cenhelm said. "We left Guthere in her care."
The man's piercing blue eyes sparked. "Ah! The lady of…" the man roared. Then he blinked. "Why, you must be her younger sister."
Cenhelm looked like he'd bitten a lemon.
Morwen felt herself blushing under this man's skeptical gaze. "I have no sisters, sir. I am the lady of Bar-en-Ferin."
"You mean you run that entire plantation? On your own? At your age?"
Morwen concealed clenched fists in her skirts, bristling at the skepticism in his voice. "Of course. It's hard work better suited to the young," she answered with a hint of steel in her voice. Why was it such a surprise to everyone? "And you are?"
"Forgive me, Lady Morwen. This is Marshal Oswin." Cenhelm paused. "Prince Thengel's uncle and the chief chancellor to the King of the Mark of Rohan, Marshal of Eastmark, and chieftain of Aldburg."
"Oh." Morwen bit the inside of her cheek before she could put her foot in her mouth again.
Oswin bowed deeply. Morwen reciprocated with a faint curtsy. She understood now why he had looked a touch familiar. He was Thengel's relation.
"My nephew was vague about his benefactress," Marshal Oswin said accusingly. "In fact, I hadn't heard about you at all until Thengel fell in with that comrade of his - Abel?"
"Adan. Yes, Prince Thengel was kind enough to recruit Adan to help me after he left."
"He did, did he?" The Marshal puffed out his chest. "Well. That's gratitude for you."
"Yes," she answered slowly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Marshal, but I'm afraid I must get on. My cousins expected me half an hour ago."
"Not on your own?" said the Marshal, looking around for someone who looked like a possible companion.
"Of course," she replied stoutly. "It's not much farther to the sixth circle."
"No, it won't do, Lady Morwen. We're for the sixth circle as well. Allow two old men the pleasure of walking a beautiful young woman home," he said with heavily accented gallantry. "You can tell us more about how Guthere gets on."
Cenhelm's expression seemed to beg her to humor the man. There was something odd about his behavior, but she did need to speak to someone about Guthere eventually. Who better than the Marshal? Morwen gave in. Cenhelm fell behind while the Marshal insisted she take his arm.
"He is healing well," she said, as they started down the street. "I've noticed his energy returning and his headaches have improved - as has his appetite. Lately he's been on a campaign to convert the cook to Rohirric dishes."
"Poor you," the Marshal grunted. "Bland fare, that."
"We had a good stew but the bread was worrisome," she confessed.
"You could brick a house with our bread," Oswin said proudly. "Second heartiest bread only to dwarf bread, so I hear."
Morwen smiled. Oswin reminded her a little of Guthere and that made her feel more comfortable. "That's what he said."
"The trick, you see, is to put it at the bottom of a deep bowl, then ladle the stew on top of it. That softens it down to a nice mush." He eyed her warily. "I don't suppose ladies like you eat mush."
Morwen bit the inside of cheek. What a turn the day had taken. She felt like laughing. "I think we may be converted if Guthere remains much longer."
Marshal Oswin beamed. "That's fine, that's fine. Nothing like hearty food to put meat on your bones."
"Since I've fallen in with you, I hope you won't think I'm impertinent," she said. "But I wondered, Marshal, about the terms of Guthere's service to Prince Thengel."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean when his service to the prince ends, is he free to stay in Gondor or must he return to Rohan?"
If Marshal Oswin seemed surprised by this question, his beard masked it. "It's irregular. None of my men has ever expressed a wish to stay in Gondor, have they Cenhelm?"
"But why?" Cenhelm asked, not masking his surprise one jot.
"I think he and my cook have an understanding."
Cenhelm muttered a string of plosive sounding words in Rohirric under his breath.
"An understanding?" Oswin asked, not grasping the subtext.
Cenhelm spoke to him in Rohirric.
Oswin's eyebrows grew stormy. "Idle fool." Then his expression cleared. "Of course, if a certain event were to occur, I don't see why something couldn't be arranged."
"What event?" Morwen asked.
"Well," Oswin hesitated. "It has been quite some time since Fengel King's counselors have considered the terms of service for Thengel's honor guard. It might be time to revisit them. You know how things change." He looked at her. "Sometimes very quickly."
Yes, she did know.
They passed into the sixth circle. Near the stables golden-headed riders greeted Oswin in their own tongue. They watched her with stern interest and so she bowed her head in greeting.
"Gōd ǣfen."
They all gaped. Cenhelm pinched his nose.
"Did I say it wrong?" she asked, blushing as they passed by the stunned Rohirrim.
"No," Oswin said slowly. "You said it well. That is the surprise. In Gondor, we must speak your language. No one has learned ours."
"Guthere taught us a few words."
When they came within view of Adrahil's home, she raised her free arm and waved to the porter who had stepped out of the gate to greet a courier.
"Ah, there you are, my lady," the porter called. "My mistress was beginning to worry."
Oswin's bushy eyebrows scudded upwards like clouds in a gust. "Is this where you live?"
Morwen had begun to cross the street again. "It's my cousin's home, but I always stay here when I visit Minas Tirith."
"You mean to say that your cousin is Prince Angelimir of Dol Amroth? Well! I won't keep you," he said, although he hadn't released her arm. "Go on in. I'll send Thengel to give our respects to the young Prince and his bride some time, shall I? You would like that?"
"We would all like that."
"You'd like to see him again. You've become good friends, I see," Oswin continued. "Perhaps he could bring Wynflaed, his sister, to meet you." Behind them, Cenhelm choked. "She doesn't know many folk in the city."
Morwen slipped her arm out from under the Marshal's. "Yes, of course. I'm curious to meet Wynflaed." Would she bring her sword?
Oswin smiled magnanimously. "Good, good."
…
Morwen slipped into Aranel's sitting room and slumped against the wall beside the door. The day caught up with her there and she felt tired, hot, and sticky. Aranel glanced up from a card she held in her hand. She looked concerned by Morwen's appearance.
"There you are. Did you have a nice visit with the Warden?" she asked calmly.
Morwen exhaled. "No. I mean, yes. I always like to see the Warden."
"You look exhausted. Sit down and tell me all about it."
Morwen did as she was told, sitting beside Aranel on the couch.
"You were gone for a very long time."
"We went down to the first circle so the Warden could show me a project my father agreed to help with. Lord Daeron was there too."
Aranel looked surprised. "Daeron? You danced with him last night, didn't you?"
Morwen nodded.
"What do you think of him?"
"I liked him very much until I found out he's Halmir's friend." She covered her face with a cushion then let it drop into her lap. "So, now there's a face to at least one of his investors."
Aranel's eyes rounded with interest and worry. "How did you learn this?"
"He told me himself," she said, thrusting the pillow outward. "He congratulated me on my engagement!"
Aranel looked coolly out the window. "Someone is spreading rumors, I see. Perhaps Halmir himself? You weren't alone with Daeron, were you?"
"Not for long. I found Cenhelm nearby and used that as a pretext to part ways."
"Cenhelm?"
"He's the captain of Prince Thengel's honor guard. He and Marshal Oswin - Thengel's uncle - were in the first circle on some business. I came home with them."
Aranel studied Morwen. "Prince Thengel and his people are very obliging to you."
"He is my friend."
"Well, I wonder. It is your business, Morwen. But as one woman to another, I will advise you to consider the implications of allowing him to get caught up in your affairs. You might find events running off without you." Then she handed Morwen the card. "You and I are to have a visitor from one of Prince Thengel's handlers."
Lady Idhren's name was inscribed on the card.
Unwieldy Cast of Characters:
Adan: Lossarnach soldier, friend of Thengel
Adrahil: Prince of Dol Amroth, Morwen's cousin
Angelimir: ruling Prince of Dol Amroth, Adrahil's father
Aranel: Conveniently asthmatic princess of Dol Amroth, Adrahil's wife
Beldir: Morwen's overseer
Belehir: Keeper of the Keys of Gondor (mayor), Aranel's father
Cenhelm: Captain of Thengel's honor guard, man of Rohan
Daeron: Lord from Lebennin, suspiciously handsome person
Denethor: son of Ecthelion, future Steward
Dineth: Aranel's maidservant
Ecthelion: Captain-General of Gondor, future Steward, friend of Thengel's
Egil: Deputy sent from King Bard of Esgaroth
Eriston: Thengel's manservant
Fengel: King of Rohan, Thengel's father, greedy britches
Ferneth: Lady of Lossarnach, Hardang's widow
Forlong: Hardang's infant son
Frár: Dwarf constituent from Erebor
Fritha: Thengel's eldest sister
Gildis: Morwen's housekeeper
Gladhon: Man of Gondor, soldier serving in Thengel's honor guard
Gundor: Morwen's servant, Hareth's son
H's of Lossarnach: Hador, Haldad, Hangelimir, Hathol, o my
Halmir: Morwen's useless cousin
Hardang: Morwen's deceased cousin
Hareth: Morwen's cook
Hirwen: Morwen's mother
Hundor: Morwen's other useless cousin
Ioneth: Morwen's servant
Midhel: local fiber artist, dyer, laundress, etc.
Morwen: The reason we're here today
Nanneth: local healer in Imloth Melui, copious grandchildren
Oswin: Thengel's uncle, a Marshal of the Mark of Rohan
Pengoloth: Master of the Arts in the Archives of Minas Tirith
Randir: Morwen's father
Rían: wife of the Keeper of the Keys of Minas Tirith, Aranel's mother
Rurik: deputy of King Bard of Esgaroth
Teitherion: artist, goat enthusiast
Thengel: the other reason we're here, also crown Prince of Rohan in exile
Thunor: mythic Northman who returns from wandering Lothlorien to find his wife beset by suitors
Thurston: man of Rohan, Thengel's honor guard
Turgon: Ruling Steward of Gondor, father of Ecthelion, fostered Thengel
Warden of the Houses of Healing: exactly what it says on the tin
Wynflaed: Thengel's other sister, a shieldmaiden of Rohan
Wynlaf: Queen of Rohan, Thengel's mother
[AN: Ooh, look, it's like a Marvel movie! Bonus scene!]
Oswin turned from the gate and began to retrace his steps toward his nephew's home. Cenhelm stumped behind him, looking dourly at the ground.
"She's got a bit of iron in her, that girl."
"Yes, my lord."
Oswin turned a hawk's eye his companion. "You've withheld valuable information from me, Cenhelm."
Cenhelm looked offended. "My reports have been accurate and on topic, Marshal," he groused. "I'm a guard, not a gossip."
"What are Thengel's feelings for that woman, do you think?"
"You must ask Prince Thengel yourself, Marshal."
"Ask him? I have half a mind to tell him! So I shall." He stroked his beard.
"That method has always worked well on the Prince in the past," Cenhelm remarked.
"Well. Hm." Oswin went over the encounter in his mind. "A very pretty, charming, young woman. More of a chick than a hen, but no matter. She runs her own plantation. Quite impressive. And related to Dol Amroth to boot. Why did she never make it onto any of Lady Idhren's lists?"
Cenhelm didn't answer.
"Say, what is her family situation at home?"
Cenhelm gritted his teeth, but then reluctantly said, "Both her parents are dead. She has no brothers or sister."
Oswin rubbed his hands together. "Better and better! No one to interfere, the negotiations will be simple."
"Consider her cousins, my lord."
Oswin snorted. Cousins? No fear. "I must find Wynflaed. Where's she gone today?"
"Wherever she wants, sir."
"Come. It's time to create our strategy. I'll brief Wynflaed later."
"Where are we going, Marshal?"
"To see the Steward!"
Cenhelm thought of the leagues of empty grassland of his homeland. He wished he were in a hole covered by a rock in the middle of it rather than trying to serve two man with sundered purposes. Loyalty had already taken several years off his life this spring alone.