Dineth woke Morwen before dawn with a tray of food. The maid laid out fresh riding clothes while Morwen ate, then she went downstairs to make sure that the kitchen had prepared something for her to take on the road.

Aranel made an appearance at her bedroom door after Morwen finished dressing and had started to braid her hair. Her cousin sat on the bed, took in the stuffed traveling bag, the empty breakfast dishes on the table, and then she studied Morwen.

"Are you all right?

Morwen shrugged, losing her place. "I feel anxious."

She forgot where she was and starting braiding again. Turning her head at an angle, she tried to see if she'd twisted the plait.

"At least you still have an appetite," Aranel said with approval. "You'll need it for the long day ahead. Here, let me help you with your hair."

Morwen sat in the chair before the vanity as Aranel directed her and found to her surprise that Aranel proved adept at braiding. After all, Morwen knew Aranel didn't have any sisters and she had grown up with a maid whose only purpose was to look after her appearance.

"Don't look so surprised," Aranel said with a knowing smile as she watched Morwen in the mirror. "I hated being an only child and plan to have many daughters. Maybe a dozen."

A dozen! Half so many sounded daunting. Morwen didn't mind being an only child and she didn't think she'd take to raising children. But then, life might surprise her. It certainly seemed to be doing so this year. But she shouldn't get ahead of herself. Right now she had to wrangle with whether or not she'd have a home by next harvest.

"Judging by your expression, you aren't thinking about babies."

Morwen wrinkled her nose at herself in the mirror. "What am I going to find at home, Aranel? I don't know what I'll be without Bar-en-Ferin."

Aranel gave Morwen a sympathetic look. She tied the end of the braid with a ribbon, and then came around to sit on the chair arm. She slipped her arm around Morwen and squeezed her shoulder. "Take it from me, you were never the orchard, Morwen. You've always been yourself. That's what you carry around with you, Bar-en-Ferin or no."

Perhaps, Morwen thought, but she'd rather be herself and still have the orchard.

"Is Adrahil still angry?" she asked.

Aranel nodded. "He's squalling but it will pass."

"What's it all about?"

"He won't say exactly, just that his hands are tied. And he isn't pleased that he has to rely on Prince Thengel to help you instead of doing it himself."

Morwen looked up at her in surprise. "Why should he be displeased about Prince Thengel? I delayed you returning to Dol Amroth. If anything, this puts you closer to your original schedule."

"Oh, it's pride probably. As for myself, I think it's a good opportunity for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, you. Why shouldn't you be friends with Prince Thengel?"

Morwen glanced down at her fingers in her lap. "What about the things Lady Idhren said yesterday?"

Aranel frowned deeply and stood up. "Morwen, I wouldn't give Idhren's stories too much credit. She may have heard a passing comment and thought to tease you. Really, I think she was fishing for something and said whatever came into her head to get it out of you."

"Did she?"

"Certainly. Did you notice how she jumped when Prince Thengel arrived?"

Morwen played with the end of her braid. "I thought they were friends."

"They are. Very old friends. That's what makes it so curious."

"What do you suspect she wanted?"

"It hardly matters now. By this evening you'll be home and all of this will be forgotten. Nobody remembers anything for long in Minas Tirith." Aranel looked up and squinted. "Usually."

Dineth came in then and picked up Morwen's bag from the floor. "The Prince is here, my lady. I'll bring this down for you."

"Thank you, Dineth," Aranel said. Then to Morwen, "I'll tell Adrahil to come down."

"Thank you."

Aranel handed her the cloak lying on the bed, adding, "you know, selfishly, I wish you were coming to Dol Amroth with us."

"I still may," Morwen said as she got up from the chair.

"Something tells me not to expect it."

"No?"

Aranel paused in the doorway. "No. I think Gondor is about to experience something it hasn't since the Battle of Poros. Halmir doesn't know what he's in for."

Morwen reflected on this as she went down alone to find the prince.

…

Morwen stepped out into a gray world. A warm fog hung in the morning air. Alone in the courtyard, Thengel's horse stood steaming. It watched her, ears twitching curiously. On the saddle, she saw a long, wrapped object tethered beside a winged helmet and the rest of his belongings. Morwen guessed what it might be and shuddered. But where was Thengel?

Morwen knew he wasn't in the house. She walked around to the back of the courtyard deciding to try the stables. Outside, sitting idly on a bench beside the open door, she found the groom looking amused. His eyebrows shot up when he spotted her.

"Have you seen Prince Thengel?" she asked him.

The groom thumbed in the direction of the stable interior. "So's my master."

So, Adrahil had beaten her out of the house. Had he been waiting for Prince Thengel while Aranel sat with her? She thanked the groom and stepped to the threshold before hearing Adrahil's voice.

"I think it's ill advised for you to travel with her considering the attention you've drawn."

Morwen stepped back and out of view of the aisle before sharing a glance with the groom. The man grinned. She ignored him and listened again.

"That's all very well, but the Steward has taken a special interest in this case. Aranel and I have managed to keep Morwen in the dark on that score, at least."

What! Morwen's ears burned. She had half a mind to charge down the aisle and demand Adrahil to repeat himself to her. Kept her in the dark? A chortle near her elbow made her aware of the groom again.

"Would you see to Prince Thengel's horse, please?" she said coolly.

The groom grunted. "I don't mess with a Northerner's horses. They're particular."

"Well, make sure he doesn't wander off."

He gave her an odd look. "Don't know much about their horses, do you, my lady? That beast won't go anywhere his master don't want him to. Best trained beasts alive."

Morwen stared down her nose at him. "Find something else to do, then. You've heard more than you ought."

The man shrugged, got up, and chuckled as he disappeared toward the house. Morwen took his place on the bench and listened for an opportunity to break up the conversation.

"Meanwhile, I'm being dismissed to Dol Amroth like an errand boy when I should be the one acting for Morwen. I don't think I need to warn you to behave honorably toward her."

Morwen felt heat rushing to her cheeks and an urge to disappear back into the house with the groom. It deepened when she heard Thengel's voice for the first time.

"If you suggest again that I need the hint then you and I will have a problem, Prince Adrahil."

"I'm not trying to offend you. But I won't deny that my conscience is far from clear in regard to any of this," Adrahil replied gravely. "Circumstances being what they are, however, Morwen has plainly cast her lot in with you. I still don't think it's prudent."

"So I've gathered. Good morning, Prince Adrahil. Wait. Pass me the soft brush. Thank you."

…

Morwen stood waiting with crossed arms when Adrahil appeared. She tried to will the blush on her cheeks to cool, but between embarrassment and anger, she doubted if she didn't positively glow. He startled when he saw her.

"Morwen!"

Morwen gave him a black look. "You've been keeping secrets."

Adrahil blinked at her. "Em." He rubbed the back of his neck. "What did you overhear?"

She tossed her head, braid swinging, as she looked up at him. "I heard enough. So did the groom."

Adrahil grimaced as he looked around for the other guilty party, then back at her. "Look, I'm sorry. Aranel and I are only looking out for you."

"But you aren't helping me look out for myself! If things are being said about my behavior then I should know about it."

"Well…" He looked at a point over her head. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Nor are you helping me by threatening Prince Thengel on my behalf."

Now Adrahil positively glowered. "He has to know you aren't without protection. I mean, what does he have planned, Morwen?"

"For what?"

"For you!"

"Me?" Morwen's eyes flashed in contempt. "Adrahil, Halmir's the one we should be worrying about. If Thengel—"

"Thengel, is it?"

"Yes, Thengel. If he meant me harm he had ample opportunity last month in my home. Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"Overreacting!" Adrahil sputtered. If he knew more than he was telling, he didn't divulge it. What else should she think, then?

"Yes," she replied. "And if I want Thengel threatened I'll do it myself." Since she didn't want to threaten him she felt she could afford the bravado.

Adrahil threw up his hand as he walked past her. "Have it your way. He's in there waiting for you."

Morwen watched Adrahil stamp his way across the gravel to the house torn between righteous anger and regret. She wished she knew what Turgon had done to upset her cousin's equanimity so much.

A wet breeze blew up from the south. Despite the rising heat and humidity, she shivered. Now that she'd vented her spleen, she realized Adrahil really did only want to protect her, even if he didn't go about it in a manner she liked. Maybe she had been unfair?

When she heard Thengel's voice again, she turned away from the courtyard and entered the shadows of the stable.

…

Morwen dropped her cloak on a hay bale near the groom's alcove. Thengel had chosen to brush and saddle her mount in the back of the stables, explaining the idleness of Adrahil's groom. She could see the back of his head and shoulders over the row of stalls toward the grooming area. She didn't doubt he heard her footsteps, but he didn't turn from his work.

She silently made her way down the aisle, stopping at Briar's stall. The gelding nudged her shoulder with his muzzle until she rubbed his cheeks and forehead. Adan had borrowed her horse to make the trip to Minas Tirith, but he had departed for Osgiliath and wouldn't be coming back with them, according to Thengel. So Briar would have to stay in Minas Tirith for now until they had space again in her stables. They would be overcrowded with the addition of Wynflaed's horse.

Thengel resumed his murmuring and Morwen left Briar. She found a beam to lean on, watching his progress tacking up her horse. He wore a hauberk bearing the white tree and it seemed foreign on him. Although, the dust and hair that now coated him from his chest to his boots helped to mask the austerity of it. The lights filtered in through the dusty air and something in its quality made her see Thengel differently. Not the scholar, not the soldier. Who was he?

"Whom were you talking to?" she asked.

Thengel glanced her way, looked mildly surprised by the question. "This fellow. Who else?" Thengel answered as he stroked the gelding's neck, "What do they call you, friend?"

"Strawberry," Morwen answered.

Thengel grimaced as he looked down at her and even the gelding looked shame-faced in the presence of Adrahil's stallion, Morwen thought. She crossed her arms.

"It's a perfectly decent name for a farm horse." Then she asked, "What is yours called, then?"

"Rochagar."

Morwen pictured the stallion waiting in the courtyard, first struck by the Sindarin name and then by the meaning. "Do you always call your horses after carrion?"

"Not always. My first horse was named Firewave in the Common tongue."

"Speaking of fire," she said, "What were you and Adrahil discussing earlier?"

Thengel adjusted Strawberry's bridle, fingers moving by rote as they gently eased the forelock out from underneath the browband. He didn't look at her.

"He's worried about you, that's all."

Morwen brushed a fly away. "It sounded heated."

"How much did you hear?"

"Oh, snippets. Not as much as the groom." Then she said, "I met Adrahil outside after."

Thengel did look at her then. "Yes?"

"I've just had my first quarrel with him."

"What about?"

"I told him I'd threaten you myself if you required it."

Thengel looked away, but not before she saw the beginning of a grin. Was he laughing at her?

"Let's hope I don't then," he said.

"Look, I may not be a shieldmaiden like your sister, but I have other resources." She would have to think about what they were, but she felt certain she had them.

"I believe you." He held up his hands as if in surrender, and his eyes were wide and clear, no laughter in them now. "I just prefer not to test your resolve — or Adrahil's. It's been a very threatening morning and we have yet to leave the sixth circle." He turned away again and attached the lead rope, then loosed the crossties. "All set here. Where are your things?"

"Dineth will bring them down."

He nodded and half-heartedly attempted to brush himself off with one hand while holding the lead in the other. "Are you ready then? To deal with Halmir, I mean."

Morwen stepped out of the way as he led Strawberry into the aisle. "I guess so. But what can we do when we get home?"

"I've been thinking about taking old Thunor and his wife as an example."

Morwen squinted at him. "Thunor?"

"Do you remember the story?"

Morwen shrugged as she followed him at a safe distance from Strawberry. "Some of it."

"Well, there you go."

"What?" Morwen paused next to Briar's stall again and chewed on her lip. What did he plan to do? Read Halmir into a stupor? Put him to sleep for twenty years the way the enchantress had done to Thunor?

Then she felt her stomach drop into her boots. It depended, she realized, on which character Thengel thought Halmir ought to be.

"Didn't Thunor slaughter the suitors?"

Thengel looked back with a grin. She reached out for Briar and absentmindedly stroked his muzzle, feeling like she had grossly miscalculated in her choice of help. An unfortunate realization after she'd accused Adrahil of overreacting!

"But surely…"

"You invited Wynflaed," he reminded her, his voice dry as autumn leaves. "I'll try to avoid slaughter, but I can't make any promises for her." Then Thengel lead Strawberry to the stable door. He turned once more when he didn't hear her following. "Don't look so worried. No one will die. Probably."

Unhappily, she watched Thengel and Strawberry disappear into the fog. He had to be teasing her.

"Well?" she heard him calling. "Come on!"

"Goodbye, Briar." Morwen kissed his nose, and then hurried out after Thengel, turning back once to retrieve her cloak.

…

In the yard, Thengel checked the girth again, and then took Morwen's bag of clothing, the supplies for Nanneth from the Warden, and a pouch of food and water from Dineth. Aranel appeared in the courtyard with Adrahil, who looked resigned.

"Shake hands before I go," Morwen said to him. "I don't like to part after a quarrel."

He held her hand and squeezed it. "Neither do I."

"Safe journey, Morwen," Aranel said as she pressed Morwen into a hug. "And don't let Halmir get you down."

"I'll try not to. Thank you, both." Morwen wanted to say more, but she felt herself choking. She had spent most of the night eager to depart, but now that it was down to goodbyes she felt strangely reluctant to part with her cousins. Aranel's friendship, especially, had surprised her with its warmth. Adrahil's new wife had been ready to accept Morwen as her own as soon as she had stepped through the door.

"When will I see you again," Morwen wondered as they walked toward the horses, "and where?"

Adrahil's eyes flicked briefly in Thengel's direction. "Perhaps even at Lossemeren next year?"

"Yes, at Lossemeren," Aranel agreed. "I refuse to countenance any other possibility."

Thengel helped Morwen mount Strawberry. While she turned the gelding round toward the gate, Thengel had disappeared inside the winged helmet that was hooked to the side of his saddlebag. Morwen felt a stab of regret at the transformation the simple helmet wrought on him, even if it did lend him some anonymity as they traveled through the city. She admitted he looked official. With his short hair she couldn't tell he was anything but a Gondorian soldier. Somehow it made her sad - either because her country had swallowed him whole - or because he had wanted it to.

…

The lower circles were more difficult for her to navigate as traffic increased. A backup of carts entering the city caused a bottleneck once they were passing through the markets. As the traffic increased, he seized her horse's bridle.

"Keep together."

The advantage of the crush was that they were not close enough to talk.

"When will we join the others?" Morwen asked.

"My uncle's men have a camp on the Pelennor. Thurstan and Cenhelm have been staying with then. Gladhon will meet us there."

"And Wynflaed will be there too?"

He gave her a longsuffering look, only partially obscured by the helmet. "Yes, Wynflaed too."

"I thought you would be happy to have her along."

He garbled something she couldn't make out.

Then she said, "Now that I've met her, I can't see why you didn't want to introduce us at the feast."

"My sister would only make things complicated," he groused. "I prefer to keep our friendship unspoiled."

"Unspoiled? I don't understand."

He gave her a knowing look. "Has Aranel met Halmir yet?"

Morwen's stomach clenched at the thought. She would feel ashamed to introduce Aranel to a member of her family who could by no means make her proud. This one member in particular.

"But Wynflaed can't be as bad as Halmir, surely."

"Well, no, but listen, Morwen, Oswin and Wynflaed came to Minas Tirith with an agenda, which isn't important, but it's a good enough reason to keep clear of them. Sometimes one wants to enjoy something without it being framed by another person's point of view."

"Keep it sacred, you mean?"

He rewarded her with a smile beneath the helm. "Yes."

She did understand. It explained why she felt so deeply troubled whenever Halmir talked about Randir these days, as if they had a bond that didn't include Morwen. One that seemed to diminish her own bond. It was like spreading slime over her memory of her father.

He laughed, just one clear note. "Of course, I hadn't reckoned on you inviting her along," he said dryly.

"She invited herself," Morwen reminded him. "I simply agreed, which seemed like the best course of action."

Thengel looked puzzled. "How?"

"You see," she said with a grin, "I have no sword."

"As if Wynflaed would use hers on you."

"How would I know? I've never met a shieldmaiden before and you make her sound unbalanced."

"She is unbalanced! You've only seen her on her best behavior."

"Well then, in future, if you're going to have plans, you might want to include all relevant parties in the details. I had no idea you wanted me to snub her."

"Hm."

"Of course, I probably wouldn't have listened to you if you had."

"I figured as much."

They rode on a ways before Morwen spoke again, this time more seriously. "But then I really do think it would be cruel to separate you when she's come all this way. Is your relationship with Wynflaed that strained?"

Thengel leaned toward her and lowered his voice. Instinctively she leaned in too. "Morwen, there is a lot of pain in my family, most of which we've brought on ourselves. Fengel has always used a divide and conquer strategy to keep us at odds with each other instead of with him." He gave her a grim smile. "I was especially prone to fall for it, which isn't a surprise to anyone who watched me grow up. Fritha and Wynflaed were so much older than I that even as children we'd never been close. She's almost a stranger. Do you see why we wouldn't seek one another's company?"

Morwen frowned into the distance, thinking. They had to stop to allow a cart to turn around in a crowd of pedestrians eager to get in the driver's way. Thengel urged Rochagar forward and made a path for them when the chance presented itself, scattering a few of the more daring citizens getting underfoot. Then he slowed so she could ride up beside him again.

"But you're adults now," she continued as if the flow of conversation hadn't been broken. "Your father doesn't have the same power over you that he did when you were children. Have they really never come to see you before now?"

"Just Oswin. When he's in Rohan, he writes for my family," he replied. When she looked puzzled, he said, "The Riddermark has no written language, Morwen. Most haven't learned to speak Westron, let alone to write it. My mother can't do either. If Fritha can, she doesn't bother."

"And Wynflaed?"

He shrugged. "I don't think she's heard the adage about the pen and the sword."

"All the more reason to visit."

"I doubt they were permitted," he told her, "if they ever desired to."

Morwen stared at him. "But why?"

"I'm in exile, Morwen, not on holiday," he groused despite an obvious effort to be patient.

"I'm sorry," she stammered.

Thengel relented, softening his expression. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

"I know," she murmured. "But still I'm sorry. I wish you could have an Adrahil and an Aranel."

"Don't worry about me," he replied stiffly. "I have Ecthelion and Idhren."

Idhren. Morwen held her tongue, but questions swarmed through her mind like bees in a hive.

…

Beyond the great gates, a mile or so down the road where the public fields lay, Morwen saw tents pitched in a series of rings. The road sloped gently downward toward the bottom of the river valley and so she had an overhead view. The orderliness of the camp struck Morwen, in contrast to the disarray of the squatters parked on her own property. She wondered if any of Halmir's thugs had managed to burn down the entire valley in her absence.

Fair-haired men and even a few women gathered in small groups around the perimeter of the tents over cooking fires and makeshift tables. Near a stand of trees beyond the tents, she saw two dozen horses, perhaps more, being fed and watered.

A breeze carried the scent of wood smoke and dewy grass and frying sausage. It also carried snatches of disembodied voices from the tents as people greeted one another or perhaps complained. Morwen had to guess because they were speaking in Rohirric.

"Who are they?" Morwen whispered.

"Oswin's retinue."

"Why don't they stay in the city?"

"No room for all the horses. They won't stay far from them." Then he added, "and, like you, they don't care for Mundburg. Too confining."

She blinked at him. "Mundburg?"

His cheek muscle ticked as he answered, "Excuse me, Minas Tirith."

"Oh."

Thengel led her off the road toward the tents. The chatter around the camp died away as the nearest riders silently regarded them with inscrutable expressions. Thengel greeted them first in Westron, then in Rohirric, she suspected for her benefit. Some of them replied in kind, but most chose only to bow their heads, somehow managing not to take their eyes off of him while they did. Their behavior struck her as odd, perhaps even diffident.

Then she saw light. Thengel's hauberk! The riders were seeing their crown prince, perhaps for the first time, and he bore the device of the White Tree of Gondor. She felt the blood leave her cheeks. What had possessed him to wear it? After all, he wasn't on official business for Steward Turgon or Captain Ecthelion.

And yet, not a small amount of their attention rested on her, too. She felt their curiosity, palpable like little brushes of leaves when passing through hedge. Their interest made her uncomfortable when she thought of Adrahil's words to Thengel. What did they make of their prince riding up with her in tow?

With a great sense of relief, Morwen recognized Cenhelm in the group. He approached them by way of the tents with a look of plain displeasure. That's how she remembered him looking all the time, so she hoped maybe he had missed the hauberk.

To her surprise, she heard herself hailed. Focusing on Cenhelm, she hadn't seen the Marshal coming from the other direction to broadside her. He appeared and she found her hand seized once more. She'd never had her hand clasped and shaken and patted so often since she met Thengel and his compatriots.

Morwen shifted in the saddle as Strawberry sidled uneasily. "Good morning, Marshal…"

"How fresh you look this morning, Lady Morwen." He patted her hand, but didn't let it go. "No, don't dismount. We won't delay you. So, it's a full day's ride, eh?"

"Yes—"

"Wynflaed tells me you've invited her. That's gracious of you."

Thengel made a face, which Morwen decided to ignore. "I'm sorry to rob you of —"

"No, no! Don't think of it," he said lightly. "I can spare them well enough."

As grateful as she felt for the sentiment, she wished Oswin would let her complete a sentence!

Cenhelm reached them then and bowed his head. He eyed the hauberk with a jaundiced expression.

"The others are tacking up, my lord."

"Thank you, Cenhelm."

"I'm ready."

They turned in their saddles to look behind them and saw Wynflaed, dressed and mounted on her own horse.

"Hello, Morwen. Who's this Gondorian lieutenant you've brought with you? I don't believe we've met."

"Wynflaed," Thengel warned.

Wynflaed cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Remind me, which throne are you supposed to sit on one day?"

"Wynflaed," Oswin and Thengel said in unison.

"Don't distress Lady Morwen with your bickering," Oswin continued. "Where are your manners?"

Wynflaed pulled a sour face. "Never had much time for those. Still. I think he's got a lot of nerve showing up here with that tree emblazoned to his chest. What makes you think we'd stand for it?"

"If I'm to impress my authority on the minds of those men from Lossarnach, then I must dress to remind them where my authority comes from. Or would you have me jeopardize Morwen's business?"

Morwen cringed. She didn't want to be in the middle of a family dispute. She had enough of that on her own!

"Of course not," Oswin surprised her by saying. "Wynflaed, use your head."

"You must see how it looks to the men," Wynflaed retorted.

Thengel's eyes were icy blue and narrowed. "I serve the Steward. That's exactly how it looks. If you don't like it, take it up with Oswin. He arranged it."

"You couldn't have covered it up with a cloak for a quarter of an hour until we left?" Wynflaed retorted.

Oswin spoke to them in his own language and whatever he said quieted them immediately.

"There's the other two now," Cenhelm said.

Morwen followed the direction of his gaze to find Thurstan and Gladhon riding up to join them. Then she tried to free her hand.

"Goodbye, Marshal."

"Goodbye, dear Lady Morwen. Good health to you. Pleasant journey."

She managed to get her hand back and the Marshal waved his farewell to the rest.

…

Morwen felt more at ease once the Rammas Echor disappeared behind them and the rising sun dispersed the morning mist and shadows. As they journeyed along the road, the fine spring weather they had enjoyed began to give way to piled gray clouds and brooding air coming up from the south. It felt heavy with damp that stuck to Morwen's skin, hair and clothes. She could smell the promise of wet dirt and green.

"Another thunderstorm?" she wondered.

"Feels like it," Thengel replied, dourly.

The South Road left them exposed to the elements, but they would be no safer under cover of the greenway when they reached it. Thengel urged his mount into a canter. Morwen followed suit. They rode in silence. At first, Morwen wondered if she should try to break it, longing to ask him about what they had experienced back at the camp, but something in his face suggested he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Behind them, Thurstan and Wynflaed bantered back and forth. Morwen caught snatches of words that sounded familiar, but they disappeared into the flow of unknown words before she could make sense of them. She enjoyed it, trying to guess what they might be discussing based on their tone and inflection. Hearing a different language felt fresh on her ears.

Morwen noticed Thengel glancing over his shoulder at the others more than once, lips pressed into a grim line, as if irritated by the sound of his native language. Wynflaed laughed at something Cenhelm said as he joined in the conversation too, and that seemed to grate his nerves more.

"Gentlemen," Thengel called over his shoulder, "Wynflaed, kindly speak in a language we can all understand."

"Thank you," she thought she heard Gladhon mutter.

The mood shifted immediately and his men fell into stony silence. Wynflaed eyes grew wide and rebellious. Morwen hid a cringe, regretting the loss of merriment.

"I don't mind," she whispered.

Thengel glared at her, before he realized it. "Well, I do. It's disrespectful."

Wynflaed rode up beside Morwen. She leaned over her horse's neck to speak to Thengel. "It won't kill the Gondorians to hear some Rohirric ever now and again."

"Wynflaed," he warned, with a stormy look in his eyes to match hers.

"It won't. Truly. Guthere taught me a few phrases and I'd like to know more. I've heard so little about Rohan," Morwen admitted, calling his attention toward herself before Wynflaed could spar with him more. Honestly, she felt like she was intervening between Gundor and Beldir again!

The deflection work. Thengel snorted, but with humor. "That's true," he replied. "How did it go? You demanded who in Arda did I think I was and then you boldly proclaimed that you were not familiar with Rohan's princes."

Morwen blushed, recalling the day they met. "You acted like I should know! I felt defensive — and nervous."

He gazed at her, incredulous. "You never were."

"Yes, I was."

"You didn't show it."

Morwen sat up straighter in the saddle. "That doesn't mean I wasn't. It didn't help that you put me on the spot. I was nervous and nauseous! And a little afraid."

Thengel whistled. "Well, you must have remarkable self-possession. But really, I don't believe you at all."

"Why not?"

Thengel cut the air in front of them with his hand. "You sailed into the room as if foreigners must bring their bloody compatriots to you every day. That didn't look like fear to me."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that what you see and what I feel might be two different things?" Morwen pointed out. Did he think she'd display fear to a stranger? "In truth, I am often afraid."

Perhaps now he did consider it. He took off his helmet and looked at her again. "Afraid of what?"

Morwen stared at the road ahead, while she thought. Normally she would have deflected the question, but now it seemed important that he had a true picture of her. "Mostly? Of failing to live up to my parents. Occasionally," she gave him a look, "of impudent strangers. Lately, of being controlled."

"By Halmir?" he clarified.

"Certainly by him."

"Morwen, you can handle blood and impudent, inconsequential princes, you don't have to worry about Halmir."

"I didn't say you were inconsequential, just that I'd never heard of you. There are many people I've never heard of — including my own relations. I can tell you, remaining ignorant of them takes great effort when your father is a consummate genealogist."

"All right," he said, putting his helmet back on. "Impudent princes unknown in the valleys, then."

"If you like," she answered primly.

Wynflaed had ridden beside Morwen all the while, listening intently whenever Thengel spoke to her. Whatever she thought of their conversation, she kept hidden behind a bland frown. They only noticed her until after she coughed. Then Thengel seemed to tire of talking. He rode ahead of them and Wynflaed began asking her questions about everything she saw. She wanted to know the names of the high-coned flowers peeking out from the broad-leaved shrubs that grew beneath the colonnade of trees lining the road. The forest rose and fell around them where the road cut between the foothills and the river and she wanted to know their names too.

…

They stopped for a brief meal off the road before they began the second half of their journey. Morwen would've liked a longer rest. Her muscles had grown too used to lounging around on Aranel's sofas in the last week and the saddle wasn't forgiving. If she had asked, she knew Thengel would've granted her the longer respite, but Wynflaed looked as unflagging as ever, so Morwen decided to grin and bear it. Even if Gildis would have to use a pulley to get her out of bed in the morning, she wouldn't admit their pace was too much.

As the afternoon disappeared behind heavy clouds, the forest thinned and the hills smoothed out into the great plain of Lossarnach spread before them. Only to the west where the slim fingers of the White Mountains delved southward into the land did the hills remain. Thengel reined in Rochagar when the greenway and the walls of Imloth Melui came into view, though still several miles distant. He motioned for Morwen to ride up beside him. Wynflaed followed closely behind.

"We were supposed to ride directly to Arnach," he confessed, "this is where I decided to ride into Imloth Melui. I don't know what came over me. I saw the odd, overgrown road, the coolness beneath the trees and thought, why not?"

With a strange twinge, she realized how slight were the chances of their ever meeting. He might have ridden on and her life would be very different at this moment. For the worst, she thought. His? Well, he'd probably be a lot more comfortable, not to mention poor Guthere.

"For a whim, it certainly put you through a lot of trouble," she reflected.

"It did," he agreed, though he smiled at her. "But it has its bright points."

Morwen's eyebrow arched in her disbelief. "Yes, I can see that. Now you have twice as much trouble by borrowing mine. Remind me why?"

Thengel adjusted his grip on the reins, hesitating. Then he looked at her. "Well, maybe I want to be known, after all."

Shaking her head, Morwen urged Strawberry onward. "Let's hope the price of fame isn't too dear."

"No fear," she heard him mutter.

…

A warm drizzle caught them at the mouth of the greenway, increasing to a steady downpour. The path lay in shadow under the cloud cover. They stopped under a thick stand of trees to dig out hooded cloaks, Thengel and Gladhon's the silver green of Ithilien, Wynflaed and the others wore the deep green of Rohan. Morwen picked a piece of hay off her own gray cloak before wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling the hood low over her face.

The birds and small forest animals had abandoned the tree limbs and a strange quiet pervaded the forest, except for an unfamiliar, rhythmic echo Morwen couldn't place. They road quietly as if not to disturb the wood around them. She could not tell if the wood or the travelers were to blame for the tension beneath the leaves. Either way, the wood and the travelers seemed to feed it.

"Do you hear that?" Morwen murmured.

"I hear it," Thengel answered grimly.

He urged Rochagar into a canter and Strawberry obediently followed suit.

AN: I guess you could call this a crossover fic. Strawberry, father of all winged horses of Narnia, belongs to C.S. Lewis. ;)