Wynflaed still snored quietly on her side of the bed when Morwen rose to start the day. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, between her anxiety and the disturbance beside her. And yet, Morwen could only feel grateful that she hadn't had to spend the night alone since the line between safety and harm at Bar-en-Ferin had grown so thin. It took her breath away when she considered what might have been if not for Thengel's sister.

The stone felt cool under her feet as she crossed to the window to look into the gray morning. The bedroom window faced west toward the ridge and no tents disturbed the view. Her limbs felt stiff and sore from yesterday's ride and the running. And the falling. The skin on her knees felt stiff where the scrapes were scabbing over. Gildis had laid out a dress and apron for her some time between Morwen's sleeping and waking. She pulled the fabric over her head and laced up the front.

Should she wake Wynflaed? Morwen recalled her companion's gleeful violence the evening before and decided against it. A knife to the throat might be her only reward. So Morwen willed down the sick rising in her throat and went in search of breakfast on her own.

A few of Beleg's men were still asleep on rugs in the hall. She found no sign that Gildis or Thengel or the others had also risen. Only Hareth occupied the kitchen when Morwen crept through the door. The cook jumped and almost lost her spoon.

"Oh, it's you. Good morning, my lady."

"Where is everyone?" Morwen asked as she hovered near the door.

"Gildis is busy bullying Gundor into carrying out the large cauldron for the laundry. You missed Prince Thengel and his men. They've gone out."

Morwen shivered with dread. "Gone where?"

Hareth gave her a wry look. "I had a nice long talk with them last night while we were nursing those poor wights, dropping a few hints about the empty larder." Then Hareth grinned to herself as she stirred something in the pot. "They've gone hunting. Prince Thengel says to tell you he hopes to be back this afternoon. I'd tell you what else he said, but I don't think it'll have the effect he wants."

"What did he say?" Morwen crossed her arms. "Hareth."

Hareth sniffed. "Well…he said to stay in the house until he comes back."

For a terrible, sinking moment, Morwen thought Wynflaed must have broken her promise and told her brother about Halmir. But no, she believed she would have heard the result if Wynflaed had. Maybe it was foolish to keep it a secret; Halmir didn't deserve to have his behavior concealed. But the situation at Bar-en-Ferin had become far more tenuous than she had imagined it would. As Thengel reminded her the evening before, they were still outnumbered. She imagined the chaos that would ensue and had decided that the best course, as far as she could judge, would be to focus on running Halmir off the plantation as quickly as possible.

Misjudging her mistress's expression, Hareth added, "It's sensible advice, Lady Morwen. Nothing's holding those men back from mischief anymore, let me tell you."

Too late! Morwen pendulumed between illness and anger. Her mind wouldn't allow her to accept what almost happened the evening before, but for Wynflaed's intervention, though her body's visceral reactions spoke of a deeper realization. She knew better than Thengel how she could expect to be treated. Though Halmir hadn't accomplished his ultimate aim to break her, he had at least reduced her through fear. She glared at the forest visible through the windows that had begun to feel like mere space between bars in a cage.

"If I stay inside, what's to stop them from continuing their work?"

Hareth looked her over critically. "You're not much of a match for anyone up there. Must you go back up to the orchard?" she asked. "I hate to think of you looking at what they did. I think you'd better wait for Prince Thengel. Guthere says —"

"I can't stay in here all day," Morwen replied. "Prince Thengel isn't much use to me as a body guard if he's gone."

Hareth raised her hands in surrender. "What did I tell you? I knew his message would get your back up." The cook turned to spoon something out of a pot into a bowl, glancing at Morwen sideways. "I imagine he's concerned, is all."

"It isn't Thengel. It's Halmir," she said grimly. "He wants me to feel small, but I don't intend to give him satisfaction."

"Well, be sensible about it, please, my lady. I wish Gildis were here to tell you that herself. You usually listen to what she says." Hareth put the bowl of broth on the table. "There. Eat that."

Morwen dragged the bench out with her foot and sat down. She reached across the table for a cloth napkin and surprised herself by the sight of her wrist as it emerged from her sleeve. A purple, mottled band had formed around it during the night, a macabre souvenir from Halmir. Morwen snatched her arm back before Hareth noticed the bruise. Her hunger vanished, replaced by a hollow feeling in her stomach.

If last night at the well hadn't occurred, Morwen never would have imagined a time when she couldn't walk from one end of the property to the other on her own. But it had happened and Wynflaed had also warned her to take care.

Mistaking Morwen's hesitation, Hareth said, "I know it's poor fare. I can add more salt, if you'd like."

Morwen looked down at the soup, ready to deny anything for the sake of Hareth's pride. But the soup's color left something to be desired and she could count the chopped cabbage leaves floating on the surface with one hand. One sad white bean sat on the bottom of the bowl, split and puffy from many reheatings.

"Is the larder really empty?" she asked wistfully.

Hareth grunted as she poured out tea. "You saw the glut last night and that was leftovers! Whatever those men didn't eat, I gave to the wounded. That was mostly rinds."

"Halmir didn't order dinners like that every night?"

Hareth slapped a mug down on the table beside Morwen, spilling half of its contents and causing her to jump. "Oh yes, he did! There's hardly a crumb left in the place for anyone else," Hareth complained. "I've watered down the broth five times just so there's something to serve the rest of us. I never made chicken bones last so long."

Morwen pressed her napkin into the spilled tea, reproaching herself for feeling angry with Thengel while completely overlooking the real offender here. "I'm sorry, Hareth. I don't know what I expected Halmir to do, but it wasn't this."

"It's not your fault, Lady Morwen. Once that man ordered the trees down, he only went from bad to worse." Hareth shook her head wearily. "He changed; I could see it in his eyes. Those boys were always little sneaks, but he has an infection in him now, if you ask me."

An infection? Again, scraps of memory from last night darted through her mind, unbidden, and she rubbed her eyes. Yes, he had gone from bad to worse. Where he'd threatened before, he meant to follow through now. She wasn't afraid of his men. Now that she had returned, she believed their natural reluctance would resurface, at least enough to leave her alone. But Halmir? She didn't know if he had a conscience anymore.

"Lady Morwen, are you all right? You look pale as a ghost. Where are you going?"

Morwen slid off the bench and made for the interior door. "I'm not hungry, anymore, Hareth. I am going to go to the orchard."

"By yourself?

"No, not by myself."

Morwen could be stubborn, but she wasn't a fool. So she went in search of Wynflaed. If the shieldmaiden wanted to invite herself to Bar-en-Ferin, she could make herself useful again.

…

Morwen cut through the lawn where the men were all still asleep. Wynflaed trailed behind her in a wary stupor, squinting dolefully at the high eastern wall of the valley where the sun had barely crested the ridge.

When Morwen reached the deserted road near the orchard walls, the oldest of the plantation dogs, an old girl covered in burs, tangentially houndish in breeding, loped toward Morwen from the direction of the forest. She knelt down to rub the dog's face and scratch her ears. "Where've you been, hm?" The hound licked her hand in answer.

Wynflaed caught up to Morwen and squinted at the matted beast. "Even the dogs don't want to be around Halmir. He doesn't smell right."

Morwen sincerely agreed. "Come on," she said, and then she whistled for the hound to follow.

As they climbed the hill, Morwen noticed how the hound dropped further and further behind as they neared the desolation at the top. A damp, stale reek of burning wood and wet ash lingered in the air. An unwelcoming odor. She listened carefully and kept her eyes open, but no one else had entered the orchard yet that morning.

She caught herself counting trees with a feverish concentration, as if she could somehow protect the rest from being felled if she simply held them in her mind. The few hours between Morwen's first frenetic view of the destruction had ebbed into a deep, dull ache when she once more stood in the heart of the apple trees where the swath had been cut. The evening before hadn't been the result of Morwen's imagination. They were all gone, the Hyarnustar Gold. The first and best of her parents' orchard. She stood in the middle of their stumps near the scarred earth where their trunks and limbs had been dragged, split, and burned. Some of the stumps still had axes biting into them after Thengel ordered the men to clear off. The fools hadn't even waited for the wood to season either. The smoke from the green wood must have been great. It made her think of the burning in Armenelos, from the old stories her father used to read her of Númenor.

And great was the burning thereof.

Wynflaed pulled out one of the axes and studied it.

"Halmir's folk did a tidy job here."

Morwen grimaced as if tasting wormwood. "They destroyed healthy trees for no purpose."

"Mm hm."

Morwen gave Wynflaed a sharp look, but her companion returned it with a bland frown.

Then Wynflaed said, "Oh, I see. You're sensitive about them." She shrugged. "Sorry. I'm a plainswoman myself. Grass, whatever. I like a clear view."

Morwen didn't know how to respond, so she didn't. Instead, she returned to the tree line. She found the red honeysaps untouched. A row of sour pippins was lost and two of the white ladies, but Morwen didn't think they were the true targets. Whether or not Halmir's maps had specified this location for the guesthouses originally, she didn't remember, but he had since chosen the spot to begin his project with calculated intelligence, certainly revenge for her defiance.

"What kind were they?" Wynflaed asked. "The downed trees?"

Morwen turned toward her companion in time to see Wynflaed trod over a small, forgotten branch with a few green leaves still clinging to it. Instead of breaking, it sunk into the damp earth. Morwen winced as if her own arm lay under Wynflaed's boot. Something burned in the back of her throat.

"These rows here, they were called Hyarnustar gold, from seedlings brought over from Númenor and grafted with the wild apple trees here. They wouldn't thrive on their own after being transplanted," she added when it looked like Wynflaed's eyes had glazed over. "At least, that's the legend." She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. "This is the oldest part of the orchard."

Wynflaed swatted a bee away. "At least they'll grow back."

"Grow back?" Morwen felt a knot forming between her shoulder blades.

"Won't they? Don't you have seeds or…something?"

Morwen chewed on the inside of her cheek to work out her rising impatience. "Wynflaed, it takes years for a seedling to grow into a fruit-producing tree. Even after they begin to bear fruit, it takes times to fully establish an orchard that can support itself." She passed a hand over her eyes. "In one week, Halmir has chopped down half a generation's worth of harvests. If I replanted now, my children, if I had any, would be nearly grown by the time we could reap the full benefit. That's supposing the trees survive blights and who knows what else."

"It could be worse. You still have those other trees."

Morwen breathed deeply, willing herself to be calm. "You aren't helping, Wynflaed. These trees are the heart of the orchard. They meant everything to me."

"Poor you," Wynflaed said with unconvincing sympathy.

Morwen stared at her companion. Did her ears deceive her, or did she detect a note of mockery in that simple sentence?

"Listen, Halmir knows how to get under your skin," Wynflaed reflected as she squinted upward at a hawk circling something in the forest nearby. She glanced back at Morwen. "But then, you probably make it easy for him."

"Easy!"

Wynflaed shrugged as she wandered toward the trees where Morwen stood. "Maybe you deserve all this. It's not like you're putting up a fight."

"Excuse me?" Morwen felt her hands begin to shake and the blood pounded in her ears as she stared at Wynflaed as if she had turned into rabid dog.

Wynflaed hefted the axe, looking it over with a professional air. "My brother told me all about it. He pities you, but I think it's pathetic," she said with cold indifference. "You let your cousin come here; you let him stay. Then you run away like a frightened rabbit to Minas Tirith and expect some men to make it better for you. Personally, I think you're a coward."

"I am not a…" Morwen tried to form the word coward, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. "I'm outnumbered and the laws protect Halmir!"

"What, are you crying?" Wynflaed laughed.

Morwen wiped the side of her face with her sleeve. "No!"

Wynflaed's lips twisted with distaste as she observed Morwen. "Do you always let life happen to you or are you waiting for someone to give you permission to seize it by the throat?"

Morwen gaped at Wynflaed through a blurry haze as her temper flared. "How dare you," she managed after a few false starts.

Wynflaed's expression shifted into a look of mild curiosity. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I making you mad? I have that effect on people."

"You don't even know me," Morwen retorted.

"No, but I have a good guess as to what you're like." She hefted the axe. "See, if I took this axe and swung it, I bet you wouldn't—"

Morwen stopped Wynflaed just in time to save another tree from the axe's bite. She wrenched the tool away and had the presence of mind to hold onto it rather than fling it away like she wanted to.

"Are you mad?" she shouted. "Get out of my orchard at once!"

Wynflaed just laughed again, unmoved. "Good. You're angry. That's an improvement."

Morwen flushed, speechless. The woman must be completely unhinged! Why on Arda had Thengel allowed Morwen to foolishly invite her here?

"Listen, little girl, you were pitying yourself before. To what purpose?" Wynflaed grinned and Morwen felt the urge to step back or else to sink the axe into Thengel's sister - no wonder he avoided her! "Pity is useless, but a good healthy anger gives us the drive to change things. Like in your situation, most of those men aren't even soldiers; they're just a bunch of farm hands and skilled workers dressed up in costumes, squatting on your property, which you'd notice if you'd stop chin-wobbling and pay attention. A little resistance should send them packing."

Morwen felt dizzy from the whirlwind Wynflaed had kicked up, one moment berating and insulting her, then changing directions all together to give her advice.

One fact did register in Morwen's befuddled brain. "What do you mean they aren't soldiers?"

Wynflaed leaned against the tree she'd almost harmed and shimmied against it to scratch a hard to reach place on her back. "That's what Thengel said, though I don't need to be told to know it. His friends said your cousin dug up those sad sacks from around Arnach to bulk his numbers. They don't have any training and they aren't eager for a fight, I can tell you that. If you would put up a fight already, they'd yield every time."

"Adan told him that?"

"That's right."

Morwen hugged the axe handle while her mind raced. They weren't soldiers. They were farmers and smiths and brewers and laborers from Arnach. They shouldn't even be here. They had left livelihoods and families behind to spend several weeks squatting in Imloth Melui. Who was left in the garth now?

"Why didn't Thengel tell me that?" Morwen asked.

Wynflaed rolled her eyes. "He has this fool notion that he's going to save the day all by himself. He's always behaved that way, ever since he was a child. It's what got him in trouble in the first place."

"But that won't work," Morwen mumbled, trying to concentrate on the thoughts crowding to the forefront of her mind, vying for attention. She needed to think!

"No, it never does. But he's thick—"

Morwen held up her hand to silence Wynflaed as one thought crystalized. For every man on her plantation, she realized, probably an angry woman sat at home, left with all the children, and chores, and farms or businesses. Her expression cleared like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Her anger had given her clarity.

The axe fell from Morwen's nerveless fingers. Wynflaed had to dance out of the way before the axe head fell on her foot.

"I have it," Morwen breathed.

Wynflaed looked up at Morwen after the near miss. "Huh?"

"I know what to do!" She grinned and this time Wynflaed looked unnerved.

"What's that?" Wynflaed frowned as Morwen grabbed her arm.

Morwen laughed. "Don't you see it too?"

"I see a crazy person. Get off."

"It's so simple!" Morwen let go of Wynflaed and spun on her heels, facing the orchard gate. "I'm going to raise my own army!"

"You are?" Wynflaed called. "I hate to remind you, but there's no more room here!"

But Morwen had already run off beyond hearing. Wynflaed watched her race down through the orchard until she lost sight of the girl in the trees.

"Oh well. You're welcome," she muttered.

Wynflaed picked up the axe that Morwen had left behind. Then she began her own descent before the desolation got to her. They were nice trees, once she took a look at them.

…

Morwen had to slow down through the field of tents. In the center, she saw a huddle of men watching a row. In the center, she recognized Halmir who looked to be venting his spleen against the men who hadn't made him comfortable enough the night before and had neglected to bring him breakfast. She decided to change directions but one of the onlookers saw her and nudged to his companions. Halmir sloughed around and the twist of anger on his face smoothed into a leer that ran right through her.

"Ah, you've come back from admiring my handiwork, have you?" He glared at the men around him until a few took the hint and laughed. "Where's your lap dog, the Prince? I saw him ride away this morning. Has he grown tired of you?"

Morwen felt her hackles rising again. In a dark fold in her mind, she recognized that fear might be more appropriate, but in the light of day she found that all she could feel was contempt. How dare he try to make her feel small!

Shivering with disgust, Morwen crossed through the ring of idlers. They parted and Halmir found himself standing toe to toe with her. She gripped his tunic and pulled his face close to hers.

"Your behavior is about to catch up with you, cousin Halmir. So shut up and get out of my way."

When she let him go, he took a hasty step backward and she raced on.

…

Halmir was still taken aback by the encounter when another figure approached the camp. The straw-haired baggage he encountered last night had followed behind Morwen at a more leisurely pace with the hound trotting beside her. He watched this strange person with wary interest when she came to stand beside him. She hefted one of the axes belonging to his men and tipped the blade toward him.

"Remember me? I think we met last night."

Was it laughter he heard in her voice, or just the quality of her thick accent?

"Just what creature of darkness are you?" he said, careless of the weapon between them.

"The right hand of Doom," Wynflaed recited blandly. "The crow flying over the theater of reckoning. The stick stirring the pot of wrath." She broke into her characteristic slanted grin. "You've put your foot in it, little man."

Halmir grunted, the poetry lost on him.

The grin disappeared. "A word of warning, lordling. There is a will in the world stronger and sharper than all your axes - especially when your pack of idiots leave them out in the rain."

He tried to smirk but it died on his lips. "Oh yes? What?"

"The will of an angry woman." She shrugged. "Nice scab, by the way. Wherever did you get it?"

Halmir instinctively covered his throat and she laughed, cold, clear notes that reminded all the men of icicles and snowdrifts.

"Get her out of here," Halmir barked as the knot of men continued to form around them, eager to see what the shieldmaiden would do next.

Wynflaed bared her teeth and the Arnach men fell back. "Don't trouble yourselves, friends. My job here is done."

She strolled on, singing in her own tongue and swinging the axe as she went.