AN: I've received a promotion at work, so I'm celebrating with another chapter update! And a portion of this chapter is dedicated to Thanwen. *ducks*

Hareth wasn't in the kitchen and so Morwen limped around to the vegetable patch. Her run through the orchard had aggravated the tenderness in her ankle after she'd rolled it the day before. She pressed her fist into her side where the muscles began to stitch up after the run. All the rich meals in Minas Tirith had also caught up to her, it seemed.

She could hear their conversation as she approached. Hareth had a basket half full of lettuces. She held another leaf in her hand, inspecting the amount of holes eaten through them with a waspish expression on her face. Guthere and Gundor were bent over another row and just as Morwen reached the garden, Gundor showed his companion a slug he'd found.

"Like this one," he said to Guthere.

Guthere scratched his head through a new dressing. "That? It looks harmless."

"Harmless!" Hareth cried over her shoulder, waving the nibbled leaf at them. "They get all over the place and eat like mad. When that happens, what am I supposed to do?"

Guthere nodded gravely. "I see. They are pests."

"Sure they are." Gundor flicked the slug into a bucket of soapy water. Then he chuckled. "They make Ioneth scream, especially when the weather's wet and she can't keep up with them. I wish she hadn't left them all for us to pick off."

"Then we will vanquish them in her name and in your mother's," Guthere said stoutly.

Morwen witnessed Hareth turn around and flutter her eyes in the warrior's direction. Guthere's beard twitched as their eyes met. Then he pinched another slug from a lettuce leaf and held it in his hand, watching it for a moment before he closed his fingers and squashed it in his palm.

Gundor gagged.

"I win. Now what?" Guthere asked.

Gundor wrinkled his nose. "You were supposed to put it in the bucket. Remember?"

Guthere shrugged, wiping his hand on his trousers. "It's dead, boy. That's what we want, no?"

"Well, but…oh, hello, Lady Morwen."

Morwen crossed the patch and knelt down so she could grab Gundor's shoulders. His eyes grew wide in surprise by her sudden nearness and the strange light in her eyes. "I need you to ride to Midhel's hut and instruct her husband to deliver a message to Garth Arnach for me," she said between breaths.

"Me?" Gundor choked.

Guthere cleared his throat. Gundor flinched, but stood up and bowed.

"I mean, em, yes, Lady Morwen. I'll go. You can count on me," he said, eyes screwed upward as if reciting a litany he'd recently learned. "Em." He scratched behind his ear. "Only…those men won't let me leave the yard. They'll tackle me for sure."

"He's right, my lady," Guthere agreed, helping Morwen rise with the hand that didn't have slug slime on it. "But what about Prince Thengel? They won't stop him."

Morwen turned on Guthere with such intensity that she startled him. "Have you seen Prince Thengel?"

"They just came home a little while ago asking for the keys to the smokehouse," Hareth told her. "Why, what's so urgent? Are those men in the trees again?"

But Morwen had disappeared in the direction of the outbuildings.

She heard voices from the stone hut used for curing meat. Rohirric words and laughter portended that the morning's hunt had been a success. Thengel stood in the doorway with a water skin tucked into his elbow so he could tip the contents over his hands to wash them. She darted toward him, seizing him by the sleeves when he turned to see who approached.

"Morwen?" Thengel tried to hold her back at arm's length by her shoulders. "Don't come close; I'm filthy," he commanded, though with laughter threading his voice, as if he liked her enthusiasm but didn't wish to smear her with sweat and grime from cleaning game.

The skin fell with a soggy flop onto the floor. They both stooped at the same time to pick it up, narrowly missing a knock on the head. Morwen reached it first and helped him pour the rest out.

While he shook his hands dry, darted out of the way of the drops.

"What is it?" he asked. "You're out of breath." His eyes searched hers. "You look like you've been crying."

"I've been talking to Wynflaed," was all she would say.

He squeezed her shoulders. "Oh, well that explains it then."

She peeked over his shoulder into the hut where his men were hanging the morning's bounty.

"You had a good hunt."

Thengel grinned. "What's more, everyone's skulls are intact."

She nodded, vacantly. "Can we talk?"

"We can take care of the rest, my lord," Cenhelm said, returning to Westron.

Thengel nodded his thanks and together they left the hut and the smell of burning wood and guts. She felt almost giddy and wished he would walk faster.

"What's it about?" he asked.

"I've had an idea that I think will help clear the orchard."

He smiled at her. "Good. Tell me while I clean up. Where's the well?"

She wrinkled her nose. "You want to wash outside?"

"Just enough to get into the house without bringing the charnel smell with me."

Morwen led him to the well and helped him fill a bucket with water. When she turned back around he had bunched the hem of his tunic in his hands and pulled most of it over his head, revealing his well-muscled chest. She startled and spilled some of the water down the front of her apron.

"Oh!" she gasped.

The dirty tunic hit the dirt where he dropped it. "Is something the matter?"

She looked down at her sodden skirt. "The water's cold," she lied.

Thengel shrugged. "Thank you," he said as he accepted the bucket from her. Next he surprised her by dumping the bucket over his head, leaning over enough to spare the rest of his clothing.

Morwen darted out of the way before she shared in the drenching. She began filling a second bucket while she watched his back through a screen of her hair. The skin there was of a much lighter hue than his arms and neck, which had seen more of the sun. Old, cord-like scars stood out like dull brands on his arms and sides. They moved tightly with his muscles as he shook the water from his hair and slicked the water off his arms.

Morwen offered him the second bucket as he continued rinsing himself off, seemingly unbothered by the cold ablutions. The odd curling feeling in her stomach seemed to tell her that in a valley full of Beldirs and Gundors, she had, up until now, missed out on something in life.

Satisfied that he wouldn't offend anyone's senses, he stooped to pick up his soiled tunic. "So what's this all about?"

"What?"

Thengel gave her an odd look as he wiped wet hair out of his eyes. "Whatever it is you wanted to tell me."

"Oh." Morwen turned away with the buckets to mask her confusion. She'd completely forgotten what she was supposed to be doing! "Wynflaed gave me an idea while we were up in the orchard this morning—"

"Where were you?" he asked sharply. When she didn't answer, he said, "Morwen, is that wise?"

Morwen turned and found him glaring at her. "Don't you tell me I shouldn't be in the orchard!" she argued, but then she added in a humbler tone, "Besides, I didn't go alone."

"Morwen." He pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose in an attempt to collect himself. Then he said, "Last night one of Halmir's folk almost took a piece out of you with an axe. You could get hurt."

"I know." Her heart had lodged in her throat when, for a second, she thought he might have found out about what else almost happened last night in this very spot. But no. Halmir would have heard from Thengel by now if the story got abroad. Morwen didn't know what would happen then, only that it would complicate matters.

"Where is Wynflaed, anyway?" he asked as his eyes swept the yard.

Morwen blinked. "I…don't know. I ran off without thinking, I guess."

Thengel exhaled through his nose again, but glared at the sky instead of her. "Come into the house and tell me," he said with an effort to hide his frustration with her carelessness. "Too many of Halmir's folk are around out here anyway."

When they entered the hall, Teitherion was shadowing Gildis, setting out bowls for whatever Hareth would manage to find for the wounded men. Something across the room caught Thengel's attention and he almost lost his footing. "How did that get there?" He dropped the tunic over a chair and crossed to the fireplace.

"What is it?" Morwen asked him, not noticing anything unusual until he reached up and took a silver object in his hand. She met him by the fireplace to see what that it was just a curved hunting horn. Perhaps he had been looking for it before the hunt this morning and had misplaced it.

He looked at her with a vague expression. "Sorry. Tell me more about this idea of yours."

Wynflaed came into the hall from the passage. "Has she told you about her army yet?"

"What army?" he asked.

Morwen tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well, I don't exactly have one yet. I need to send a message to Ferneth and explain what I need, but Gundor can't get through to the courier with Halmir's men in the way."

"Gladhon can carry a message to Arnach first thing tomorrow," Thengel promised. "What else can I do?"

Morwen bit the inside of her cheek. The plan had begun to sound ludicrous the more she thought about it, but what else did she have?

"Maybe this won't work. If it does, I do know it'll take time. Help me manage Halmir until it can play out."

Thengel hesitated, then his eyes flicked back to the mantelpiece. "I have an idea about that."

"You do? What is it?"

Before Thengel could explain, Gundor pushed open the outer doors and ran inside, flanked by Cenhelm, Thurstan, and Gladhon.

"Lady Morwen," Gundor gasped, "Halmir's in the yard, demanding food. Should we stop him from coming inside?"

"No," Thengel answered for her. "Let him come in."

"But I don't—" Morwen began, but then Thengel leaned over her.

"Morwen, I'm going to kiss you. Is that all right?"

She blinked. "What?"

…

Morwen's eyes had closed of their own volition and she became aware of several sensations at once. A murmur in the background. Warm lips gently questing over hers contrasting with the few days' growth of Thengel's beard scratching her chin. The water dripping from his hair, trickling from his nose to where it pressed alongside hers. The smell of his skin and the smoke from the fireplace. She felt his arms around her waist and shoulders, holding her fast to his bare chest, and it felt like being snugged against the sunny side of a wall. Except for the cold silver horn cradled between her shoulder blades where he still held it. And finally, her heart having plummeted into her stomach had bounced back up and lodged in her throat once more. Her thoughts scattered in all four directions of the wind.

Then she felt someone's grip on her arm, wrenching her abruptly away. The air felt harsh and cold against her body compared to the heat from Thengel. She stared stupidly into Halmir's flushed face, her limbs trembling all over.

"Just what is this?" her cousin demanded.

All around, the witnesses in the hall had fallen dumb. Wide-eyed, Morwen broke the silence as a pale awareness enveloped her mind.

"Adrahil!" she gasped before covering her mouth.

…

Halmir stared, temporarily speechless.

"No, it's Halmir," he groused, sneering down his nose at her. "This man has clearly addled the few wits left to you."

Thengel planted his palm on Halmir's chest, forcing the brute back as he stepped between them. "Show some respect," he warned. "Remember, you're on tenuous terms in Morwen's house."

From the corner of his eye, Thengel watched Morwen touch her lips with a strange, vacant expression on her bright face, hoping to gauge how she'd handle the news to come.

"So says the man making free use of my cousin's charms," Halmir retorted, stopping out of arm's reach. Then he turned to his thugs who were always near at hand. "Well, friends, the Prince reveals himself at last. Now we know what he came back for."

"Shut up." Thengel eyed the lordling as if he were a rat that hadn't escaped the cartwheels. Out of the corner of his eye, Thengel noticed Wynflaed skirting the perimeter of the hall, missing nothing. She stopped only when she had Halmir in a direct line of sight. Then finding a bit of open wall, she slumped against it and lowered her head as if the tableau in the middle of the hall had put her to sleep.

"Weren't there enough skirts in Minas Tirith to satisfy you, Prince Thengel?" Halmir snapped his fingers, and on cue, his followers snickered.

Thengel turned a black look on Halmir, but his voice remained calm and low. "Choose your words with better consideration, lordling. You're speaking of a woman with greater honor than you possess and perhaps soon of higher rank. Look carefully at this."

Halmir squinted at the horn's rich designs. "What is it?"

"It is a token of my house and a gift for Lady Morwen." She stared at the horn as Thengel placed it in her cupped hands. "Consider it a stake, Lord Halmir."

"A stake in what?" Halmir asked suspiciously.

Thengel touched Morwen's back and she jumped. He forced himself to smile, and thought, perhaps, he should have discussed this next move with her first. "In my claim to the lady's hand."

Stunned silence followed this announcement. Morwen's mouth fell open in silent horror. Across the hall, Cenhelm invoked the gods with every oath available in his native tongue. Wynflaed covered her eyes.

"Hurrah!"

Teitherion bustled forward, beard wagging, seizing Thengel's hands. "I knew it, I knew it. As soon as Lady Morwen dashed off to Minas Tirith after you, I knew it," he cried as he pumped Thengel's hands, accidentally elbowing Halmir in the gut. "Congratulations, your lordship. Oy there, Beldir, I was right and you owe me a silver piece!"

"I do not," they heard Beldir grump from his seat at the table. "Daft fool."

Teitherion ignored him. "Cunning of you to snatch her up before anyone else knew about her. Lord Halmir, excepted, of course." He winked several times. "Ah. I imagine it happened at Lossemeren. Quintessential time for romance. Again, I congratulate you. Oh, I know, I'll paint your wedding portrait."

"Yes, all right. Thank you," Thengel groused as he freed his hands. The artist's hands were dirty with old paint and greasy and gritty from the goats. Thengel turned his back on the effusions of the goat man and chanced a glance at his new rival.

Halmir's color changed as he adjusted his thoughts to this new claim. Then he laughed once, a tentative bark. When no one joined him, he glared at the assembly.

His brow puckered till it formed a single line across his forehead when he faced Thengel again. "You plan to rival me…for her? You must be joking."

Thengel stared placidly at the lordling. "The members of my household are here as witnesses." He nodded toward Wynflaed, who pointedly refused to meet his eye.

Halmir sneered as he brushed Morwen aside to stand toe to toe with the upstart thorn in his side. "What could you possibly want with a backwoods girl like Morwen? She's not a princess. Half the time she's up to her fingers in dirt."

"An epithet befitting a lover," Thengel replied dryly.

"What?" Halmir's expression darkened with loss of patience. "You intend to make her a great lady then?"

Something kindled within those half-lidded eyes of Thengel's that some found difficult to withstand. "The One made her that," he answered sternly.

Halmir shifted uneasily, but forced himself to grin. "What a farce." He laughed, more staccato barks that jangled Thengel's eardrums. "A prince with no country and a mud princess. Rohan must be very grand if you two are a sampling, a pen for the pigs to roll in."

"I'll skin him alive with a blunt knife," Wynflaed promised, no longer feigning sleepiness.

"Peace, Wynflaed," Thengel muttered in their tongue.

Wynflaed shot her brother an indignant look.

Halmir threw up his hands, turning his back on Thengel as if the discussion had come to an end. "Well, you can't have her."

A muscle tremored in Thengel's cheek. "Can't I?"

"No. She will marry me if she wishes to remain in Imloth Melui." Then to drive his point home, Halmir added, "you've seen what I'm capable of."

Morwen, who had been as still and unresponsive as a statue the entire time, turned wounded eyes on her cousin. Thengel wanted to reach out for her, to assure her that Halmir's threats held no weight anymore, but she looked like she might bolt if he tried.

Swallowing back his anger, Thengel said, "If she chooses me, she could have a country full of orchards at her command, which is more than you can give her now."

Halmir colored. "Well, as the head of the family I simply won't allow it."

"You won't?" Thengel asked, emphasizing each word. "How do you intend to stop me? It's her choice."

Halmir smirked. Belatedly, Thengel realized he had thrown his rival a boon. If she denied both of them, then his plan would unravel.

"So, it is her choice, is it?" Halmir crooned. "As you say. I have been waiting for an answer since Lossemeren. Do you have one, Morwen?"

Morwen stood like an ice sculpture with the blood drained from her face and limbs. Her eyes stared at some distant prospect, unseeing and nerveless. The horn rested in her palms like a millstone, her shoulders curving around it. Thengel had watched her from the corner of his eye during the unpleasant confrontation with Halmir and her silence worried him.

Gildis, he saw, had also noticed her mistress's expression. The old woman had disappeared into the kitchen with an armful of crockery. When she came back, she shooed Guthere out of the kitchen with her. Hareth followed behind with a rolling pin in her hand. Inauspicious, he thought.

"You can hardly expect Morwen to decide today," he said, returning his attention to his rival.

Halmir snorted derisively, but yielded. "Today. Tomorrow. No matter. I'll have my way. Remember what I told you, Morwen."

Halmir lingered long enough to see Morwen shudder and seem to curl in on herself at some shared memory before he turned his back and begin to chastise the men loitering nearby. They followed him out again.

Thengel touched Morwen's shoulder, her reaction not lost on him. What had Halmir said to her? And when had the rascal had the chance?

"Morwen," Thengel murmured, when they were gone.

She wouldn't look at him or respond and her expression lay hidden behind a screen of her dark hair.

"Listen, I'm going into the other room to speak to Gladhon about the errand to Arnach or do you wish to tell him yourself?"

"Take a walk, Thengel," Wynflaed ordered as she approached Morwen. "Give the girl a moment to consider your generous offer."

Thengel winced under his sister's sarcasm. His hand dropped from Morwen's shoulder, but before leaving her side, he said, "If you need me, I'll be in the study."

…

Cenhelm and the rest followed Thengel silently down the passage into the room. His skin prickled from the scrutiny directed at the back of his head, knowing they were all wondering what he'd just done.

"Close the door, please," he said over his shoulder as he entered the doorway leading into the adjacent bedroom. When he returned, he wore a clean tunic. He crossed to the desk where lay the leather wallet.

"Gladhon, I have a task for you." He turned, opened the wallet to reveal the sheet of paper scrawled over in his idiosyncratic script and the blueprints. "First thing tomorrow, I want you to deliver this message to Lady Ferneth in Arnach since you know the fief better than anyone here. Remember, you are to deliver it to her hand only. Understood?"

Gladhon cleared his throat. "With respect, my lord, I do not think it wise to leave you at this time."

The implications hung in the air and Thengel watched each of his men displaying varying expressions of unease over the gauntlet he'd thrown down in the hall. They worried about his safety, but they also worried about their own honor too, he deemed. And he didn't blame them. Courting Halmir's ire could have terrible implications for them if Thengel ended up wounded or worse.

"Well, ride quickly and you won't be absent for long," Thengel replied. "If you want to protect me and help Lady Morwen, you could not do better than see that letter reaches Lady Ferneth."

Gladhon weighed his options behind a stoic face before finally agreeing. "I could leave tonight."

"Tomorrow will suffice. As it is, you will need an escort to the South Road and I'd prefer sunlight there and back."

"Should I wait for a reply?"

Thengel replaced the papers in the wallet and sealed it again. "The lady will tell you what to do."

Gladhon gave him a curt nod.

"What good do you expect a bit of paper to do?" Thurstan asked.

"Maybe he's asking her permission to marry Lady Morwen?" Guthere added.

"Not quite, Guthere," Thengel answered as he turned and sat on the edge of the desk. "Perhaps nothing will come of it. Only my interview with Lord Turgon put a doubt in my mind and Wynflaed added to it. This Halmir strikes me as a pretender—"

The door flew in, banging against the wall and nearly shutting again from the force. The five men jumped in surprise as Morwen sailed into the study with the power of a siege engine. Her eyes were knifepoints, pinning each of them in turn until they caught Thengel. Wynflaed traipsed in behind her and found a corner from which to observe.

"Morwen, I just told them about Ferneth. Perhaps you would like—"

"How dare you," Morwen seethed, and as she did so, she raised her arm.

The horn sailed at Thengel's head. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid catching it between the eyes. Cenhelm and Thurstan both scrambled to catch the relic before it hit the floor. It struck the back of one of Randir's overstuffed chairs and would have rolled off the cushion to the stone but for Cenhelm's reflexes.

"Morwen, that's a priceless—" Thengel began. He didn't get far before she was on him, dodging Thurstan, who tripped over Cenhelm in his attempt to protect Thengel. Guthere tried to intervene, but Wynflaed held him by the back of his tunic.

Morwen pummeled his chest with her fist while the men were too stunned or impaired to stop her.

"You promised to help me!" she accused.

"So I am," he answered, dodging away from her, then reaching for her arms. "The men of the Mark don't break their word."

Morwen recoiled away from him. "Setting yourself up as a second Halmir - that's help?" When she stood upright she could look him almost right in the eye.

The epithet stung him. "A second Halmir!" he groused. "That's hardly fair when I'm on your side."

"Forgive me if I'm insensible to how this helps me," she hissed. "You are arrogance itself, Prince Thengel, coming in here and taking over— no, stay away!"

Thengel had taken a cautious step toward her, arms raised, placating, a buffer in case she intended to gouge his eyes out like a beautiful, but very angry crow.

"Morwen," he said slowly, softly. "Let's talk. I think you've misunderstood."

"Oh, you've been very clear." She stepped back, out of his reach. "I trusted you and you tricked me. Adrahil warned me about you!"

"Morwen!" he growled, remembering very clearly Adrahil's warning to himself and not feeling particularly warm toward the prince at the moment. "Listen."

Thengel caught her wrists and held on when she tried to jerk away. She glared up at his face with renewed fierceness to compensate for being caught. When she tried to shake him off, she gasped and he looked down where he held her. Her sleeve had slipped down to her elbow and her skin below her hand had turned purple and black.

"What happened to your wrist," he demanded. "Did Halmir do that?"

Morwen's eyes burned. "Let go, you two-faced orc!"

Thengel gritted his teeth at the new name he'd earned for himself. Ungrateful woman! "Listen to me, for pity's sake—" he begged, holding on but afraid she would rather break a wrist than listen to an explanation.

Morwen glared at his hands on her wrists. "You're hurting me."

The ice in her voice burned him and he let go as if frostbitten. With a look of gray-eyed contempt, she swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind her.

Thengel stood there, feeling like he had been used as a punching bag. When he'd waited for her to react, his imagination had done her little justice. Morwen was like a birch leaf, he reflected; outwardly green and light and shapely, but when the wind picked up, she flashed silver in your eyes.

It stung.

"I enjoyed that." Wynflaed examined her chipped nails, having let go of Guthere. "I see what you mean about the steel. Funny she chose to use it against you though. That must hurt."

"Wynflaed, shut up."

Cenhelm hovered near Thengel's elbow with the horn cradled in his rough hands. Thengel glowered as he accepted it back. Still, his guard lingered.

"Yes, Cenhelm?"

Cenhelm cleared his throat. "When I said all those weeks ago that you might put your foot in it if you interfered here, that's what I meant," he told him helpfully.

"Yes, thank you," Thengel muttered.

"Stélescéne," Thurstan groaned from the floor, where he'd lain throughout the confrontation with hands over his head. "Wamme."

Steelsheen. Beauty with an edge.

Béma shield him.

AN:

Steelsheen: I've read in Appendix A that the epesse was given to Morwen for her grace and pride, but to me it has a slightly edgier connotation. ;)

Wamme: OE. Woe is me!