AN: I apologize for the delay. This chapter gave me considerable trouble at a point when I didn't have much time to write. Happy New Year!
Morwen rose in the dark and fumbled around for her dress and apron in what used to be her mother's wardrobe. She hadn't acquainted herself with her new bedroom as well as she had thought and Gildis hadn't come to her yet. Taking her boots in hand, she drifted into the library attached to the bedroom and sat in her father's armchair to slip them on. The leather felt stiff around her ankles after several weeks of wearing nothing but slippers around the house while she healed. But today she had Nanneth's permission to return to the orchard in full strength.
Gildis appeared at the door with a breakfast tray. "Good morning, my lady. Beldir's outside and wants to speak to you."
"Send him in," she mumbled as she laced the left boot.
Gildis deposited the tray on the desk and left. Shortly, the gaunt figure of her overseer appeared, half obscured by the door.
"I'll be along soon, Beldir. I'll meet you in the orchard."
He cleared his throat. "I wanted a word in private, if you please."
Morwen went in search of her breakfast on the desk. "Come in, then."
Beldir crossed the space and held out a piece of paper scrawled over in pencil.
"What's this?" she asked, taking it.
"My estimate of what Halmir's work has cost the farm this year and down the line," he told her grimly.
Morwen scanned the figures and all thoughts of her breakfast. "I'm going to be sick."
Foolishly, she had believed that all the bad news had ended with Halmir's death. Not so. The bad news had only just begun. How could the farm survive on these numbers?
"If we reduce the workers to the number you see at the bottom, we can still bring in the harvest in time and cover the rents without folding, but it won't be easy."
"So many!" Morwen squinted at the number, hoping she was seeing it wrong. "We'll be down to bare bones. What will their families do?" She looked for reassurance from Beldir, but his grim expression gave no quarter for optimism. She ground her teeth as anger replaced the initial shock of their losses. "I told Halmir that this scheme would affect the whole valley and he wouldn't listen. Now he isn't even here to see it that I was right."
Beldir shrugged his bony shoulders. "Wouldn't have helped anyway. There's no teaching some folk."
Morwen folded the paper and put it in her pocket. "I'll write to Ferneth. Her advisors are still drafting an agreement for Bar-en-Ferin and there may be other options. She may agree to a repairing lease until the trees can grow and produce."
At least, she hoped so, but her heart sank.
When Beldir didn't leave, Morwen glanced up at him. "Is there something else?"
He stood at the edge of the desk. "Morwen, have you considered letting the orchard go?"
Morwen gaped at him. "What do you mean?" After what they'd gone through to get it back?
"I can see plain as plain that you've decided to cast your lot with Prince Thengel," he said without looking her in the eye. "Where does that leave us when you go to live with him in that remote, out of the way country?"
Morwen felt broadsided. "Beldir, are you suggesting giving up on the orchard? Really?"
"Before your parents, this was just a hunting lodge with a kitchen garden and a few fruit trees. We can't sustain the plantation with these losses. There's no sense in you fighting to keep it up for the few years you'll have before you go to live with him."
Surprise left Morwen momentarily speechless. Since Ferneth left, no one had spoken to her about any such possibility. Foolishly, she hadn't considered what her household thought about her marrying and perhaps even leaving the valley one day. If it ever came to that. She still hadn't spoken to Thengel.
"Beldir, we didn't give up on the orchard when Halmir arrived with his sketches and his money and his men. We can't give up on it now." She sighed. "The valley needs the orchard whether I'm here to enjoy it or not. As for not, there's no reason to think I'm going anywhere."
Beldir snorted.
"As you are no doubt aware," she said slowly; each word required considerable concentration to maintain the evenness of her voice, "I have not had a word from Prince Thengel in the weeks since he left Lossarnach. Whatever my personal feelings might be, it's best not to jump to conclusions."
"Then you're not set to marry him?"
"You attended the duel. Nobody's set to marry anybody."
"But you would if he asked."
"Prince Thengel isn't going to ask," she retorted. He hadn't even answered her letters.
"Oh. Well. I'll see you in the orchard then. Good morning."
Beldir sounded more optimistic for this news and Morwen felt a twinge of annoyance as she watched him leave. He needn't feel so glad for the orchard at her expense. Besides, Beldir had taken for granted that the asking only went one way.
Thengel would not ask, of that she felt certain. He didn't know that she loved him back, after all. Giving the tardiness of that revelation to herself, she didn't wonder at his own ignorance. But she had decided what she wanted in the interval, and alas for Beldir, nothing could stop her from asking Thengel. Conventions be damned. Ferneth had told her to take the lead and she meant to!
Except, Thengel had vanished beyond the reach of letters or wished her to believe so. And the difficulties at Bar-en-Ferin would not allow her to travel far.
…
Morwen started out for the orchard much later in the day than she had planned. After her talk with Beldir, she had spent the morning penning and re-penning a letter to Ferneth. In the end, she'd tossed down her pen and crumpled up the paper. This discussion needed to take place in person and as little as they could afford it, Morwen needed to ride to Arnach and speak frankly with her cousin and hammer out an arrangement that would keep the orchard afloat. The household of Garth Arnach did have a responsibility to Bar-en-Ferin, after all. By the time she'd drawn that conclusion, her limbs as well as her nerves were in need of clean air and heavy labor for release.
She met Guthere walking along the road with Gundor. He sent the boy on ahead, leaving the two of them alone to climb the hill to where the workers were starting the lunches Ioneth had carried to them. The girl had returned shortly after the Arnach men's departures. In the background, Morwen could hear the dogs barking after birds and squirrels in the fruit trees. Morwen stepped up beside Guthere and together they took the lane under the beeches.
"Hello, miss," he greeted.
"Guthere." Morwen nodded once and smiled. She had grown so used to the sight of his deep red hair and enormous beard and booming voice that she had nearly forgotten what Bar-en-Ferin was like beforehand. "Having a walk?"
"I'm meeting Gundor for some sparring after lunch."
Morwen gestured for him to walk beside her. "It's nice of you to take him under your wing, but are you sure you're ready for that kind of exercise?"
Guthere shrugged. "It's not much exercise, at that. Hareth worries the lad's going to be the farm's punching bag for the rest of his life if someone doesn't show him a few tricks, but he's a beanpole with a long way to go."
"What sort of tricks?"
"Well, I'd be happy if he'd stand up straight. The main thing is, if he postures himself like he's going to be kicked, people will kick him. Got to get that out of his head." Then he said, "You look well, Lady Morwen. You're coming back to work for good or just to tour the orchard?"
"Thank you, I'm back for good. Nanneth says the wound is sound. I can carry as many bushel baskets as I choose now without fear of opening it up again."
They fell into silence as they walked. After a short space, she felt his small eyes studying her.
"What is it, Guthere?" she finally asked.
"Begging your pardon, miss. You look well, but your spirits aren't what they used to be."
"No, I guess not."
"You haven't heard from Prince Thengel yet, have you?"
Morwen hesitated, then said, "No."
June had just arrived since Thengel and Wynflaed left. Ferneth had followed soon after, taking the Arnach squatters with her. In that time and Morwen had begun to heal in body, but some simple math on Beldir's part had revealed the depth of the damage to their stock and to their bankroll. Rather than feeling relief in Halmir's absence, she now began to feel the icy grip of financial distress. The whole valley would feel it, too, as Beldir proposed laying off as many workers as they could afford to let go and still bring in the harvest on time.
Around that time too she had also conceded to herself that Thengel meant to stay away the whole summer, providing another blow. Morwen had made her choice. It didn't take much self scrutiny to realize what she wanted. For a girl who had studiously ignored the future, she had certainly made up for lost time…or meant to.
"You miss him, I guess."
Morwen stared ahead. "You guess?"
"Well, it's what everyone's saying."
After a pause, she said, "He promised to come back. What do you think, Guthere? Will he?"
"If he gave his word, then he will, Lady Morwen."
"But when? I'm afraid he doesn't understand." So much could happen in Ithilien and she couldn't bear to think he didn't know that she loved him.
"I hope he will return soon for your sake," Guthere said somberly. "But for mine, I hope he delays a while longer."
Morwen considered Guthere. His expression gave little away, but she noticed a stoop in his shoulders that suggested anxiety. "You're looking very well, yourself. It won't be easy for you or for Hareth when you resume your duty. I guess it can't be much longer now."
Guthere shrugged and touched the odd tonsure around his scarred scalp. "Funny how life takes a turn. I never had much time to woo women back home. Always riding about on patrols. Never would have credited getting laid up in a strange country would bring me a woman like Hareth."
A short tempered, frizzy haired woman with a gangly son? Morwen thought with a flash of amusement.
"Still, when my three years are up, I'll have to go back to Rohan. Hareth's a little touchy on the subject. We mean to marry, but…." He finished by shrugging again.
Morwen touched his arm. "I'll think of something, Guthere, to keep you together."
Guthere smiled hopefully. "If anyone could persuade the Marshal or Prince Thengel, it's you, Lady Morwen."
Because I am the bargaining chip, Morwen thought. Well, if it was so, she would make the most of her position and that meant initiating it. She'd let others dictate and plan for her and she felt tired of it. Thengel could be stubborn, but so could she.
"Guthere," she said hesitantly as a thought came to her, "Just how dangerous is it in Ithilien?"
"Not so bad as it was early in the spring. The rangers have a better handle on it now."
"And for civilians?"
He started to shrug, but then froze as if a terrible idea had seized him. "Oh no, Lady Morwen. You can't go to Ithilien. Civilians aren't allowed!"
"Even if it's important? We're talking about the future of Rohan's royal family."
Guthere stopped in his tracks and Morwen did too. She blushed. It was the first time she had formally spoken about her intentions to any of Thengel's people. He looked at her in silent stupefaction.
"It's too dangerous, my lady," he said with fresh formality.
"But what if you came with me? As a guide and a guard."
"Well, I could save you from a few orcs, but what's to save the both of us from Prince Thengel's wrath once he clapped eyes on you? He'd have my head for sure…and it's only just starting to feel better," he added with regret.
"I could explain to Prince Thengel…"
"Lady Morwen, sorry, but Prince Thengel won't budge on civilians entering Ithilien and you're the last woman he'd want to see risking her neck out there."
Morwen conceded. It was only a passing thought. The orchard couldn't spare her anyway, not if they had to lay off the majority of workers.
Guthere cleared his throat. "You could seek out Lady Idhren."
"Lady Idhren?"
"Sure. She's Prince Thengel's oldest friend in Gondor, only excepting Captain Ecthlion. Everyone knows that he listens to her above anyone else. She can advise you on how to reach the prince, or you know, how to persuade Captain Ecthelion to send him home. Maybe."
Morwen's spirit buoyed. "I doubt Lady Idhren has that much power, but you may have hit on something, Guthere." But then she imagined telling Beldir of this plan and her spirits promptly deflated again. "I don't know though. We can ill afford it at present, even if I stay in Angelimir's home. I could write, I suppose, but I'm not good at explaining myself on paper. I'd rather talk it over."
Belatedly it occurred to Morwen that she had made quite a few promises. To save the orchard, to make a way for Guthere and Hareth to be together, to vouchsafe the future for the house of Eorl. But how? And when?
In the end, circumstances determined the timing.
…
A week later, Beldir limped into the hall on his crutch with a rag pressed against his nose and papers crumpled into the cuff of his sleeve. Morwen had just left her ledgers in the library when she found him.
"What happened to you?"
"I'd rather not say," he growled.
Morwen regarded him with a dry expression. "I told you to watch yourself with Gundor," she sighed. "Guthere's giving him tips."
"Isn't it time someone packed that redheaded oliphant back to his master?" Beldir growled. When Morwen didn't respond, he added in a more subdued tone, "Anyway, the carts are on their way to Arnach. And here, the courier came."
Morwen's heart began to race as she took several envelopes from the overseer. The first came from Dol Amroth and she opened it eagerly. Aranel had written to her in a careful, looping hand to thank Morwen for her letter detailing the end of the adventure in Lossarnach and how Thengel had disposed of Morwen's antagonists. The rest contained idyllic descriptions of her new home and her husband's family and ended with a wish to see Morwen again soon under happier circumstances.
The second letter came from Arnach. She scanned the contents quickly and then gasped.
"Listen to this," she told Beldir. "Ferneth says that they've arrested Hundor near Pelargir, just as Thengel thought they would."
Beldir snorted. "And the money?"
"It doesn't appear that much of it remained." Morwen glanced up. "Poor Lord Daeron. I wonder what they'll do with Hundor now?"
"Does she say anything about the rents we owe?" he asked.
Morwen shook her head. "I haven't written to her."
She turned over the third letter, hoping to see signs that it had come from Thengel. But when she recognized the seal she felt torn between astonishment and disappointment.
Gildis came in from the passage then and made Beldir show her his nose while Morwen broke the seal and read the contents of the letter. Halfway through, she reached for the table to keep herself upright.
"Lady Morwen, are you well?" Gildis asked. "How pale you look."
"It's a summons," she breathed, "from the Steward."
Beldir's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "The Steward? But what does he want with you?"
Morwen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "After a laundry list of salutations, he writes that he wishes to discuss my future prospects at my earliest convenience. That's all it says."
The three of them exchanged nervous glances. Lord Turgon rarely took interest in people who weren't his barons or soldiers or scribes. And given his flat refusal to intervene with Halmir, she couldn't understand why he had instructed his scribe to draft this letter to her.
Astonishment burned away to make room for a more inflammatory emotion. Recalling Wynflaed's words about the conspiracy between the Steward and the Marshal, Morwen had a terrible feeling the summons had to do with Turgon's disappointed plans for Thengel. She crumpled the paper in her hands. Whatever Turgon wanted, she would give him a piece of her mind to feast upon! Let that teach him to interfere in her affairs.
"When will you go?" Beldir asked. "And who will go with you?"
Morwen leaned against the table to think. "The letter only says to attend him at my earliest convenience, but I expect he means when it's convenient to him — the earlier the better." Morwen tapped her lips while she thought. "I'll write first to Angelimir's housekeeper so the house can be prepared for me. And I'll answer the Steward's note. I think three days should be enough time. Guthere will go with me."
"But who will come back with you then?" Gildis asked.
Morwen's eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm not leaving Guthere behind in Minas Tirith. You can count on that," she told them as she turned down the passage to the library bedroom to pack.
No, Guthere was her leverage, along with a certain family heirloom.
…
"Are you nervous, Lady Morwen?"
Morwen glanced at Guthere when they stepped beyond the citadel gate and into the morning light. She waited until they had passed beyond the hearing of the somber guards with their winged helmets. Only a few scribes with their wide, flapping sleeves and here and there a lord of the city occupied the courtyard.
"I pretended not to be until you asked."
"Sorry."
Morwen shrugged. "Don't be. I didn't convince myself."
He led her to the citadel fountain with its sad, shriveled, sun-bleached tree. Without the lanterns and floating candles of the feast night all those weeks ago, the spot felt forlorn. Morwen's hand had been tucked into Guthere's arm, but she let go of him here.
"Do you think it'll be a long interview?" he asked.
"I don't know. Why?"
"I thought I might ask around about the missing camp."
"Oh."
They had passed the spot on the road from the Harland where Oswin's riders had set up camp in April, but all traced had disappeared. Morwen hadn't heard that the Marshal had left the city, but she supposed that even he couldn't stay in Gondor indefinitely. It gave her little hope that they would find Thengel still in the city too and they had arrived so late the day before that there hadn't been an opportunity to find out.
"Don't worry about me," she told Guthere. "After I meet with the Steward, I will call on Lady Idhren. You should have plenty of time to find out about the camp and return here for me."
"I'll call for you at the Steward's house then."
Morwen and Guthere parted at the fountain. Feeling very small, she entered the great edifice that housed the king's throne. The chamberlain led Morwen down the corridor toward the throne room. She had vague memories of this journey from the courtyard to the steps leading up to the high, empty seat from her childhood. But it had been many years since Randir had brought her with him on his long, tedious consultations with Turgon.
When the chamberlain ushered her inside the throne room, she felt surprised to see that her memory of Turgon hadn't needed any refreshing. He still looked gray and craggy, but he held himself with the same stern, upright posture that she recalled. The white rod still lay across his lap as though he had remained fixed to the spot in the ten years since she had last tagged along with her father. She wondered if someone came in to dust him every day.
"I present Morwen of Lossarnach, Lord Steward."
"Is this Morwen?" the Steward asked crisply. "Come forward, young woman. Let me see you."
The Steward dismissed his servant and beckoned her to approach the chair. She did so with some reluctance as he scrutinized her face. What he happened to be looking for, she couldn't guess. When she curtseyed, she allowed her hair to fall over her like a curtain.
"Pigtails," he finally said. "I recall pigtails were once a favorite with you."
"Yes, my lord."
Turgon's hollow cheeks puffed, then sagged. "Well. So it is you, child. No longer the gawkish girl holding onto her father's coat tails. Although I see you still have a penchant for sunburns."
Morwen bit her tongue for ten seconds before answering. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Steward."
Turgon's lips formed a thin line. "Hm. That is what everyone says, especially when they want a favor."
"But you summoned me, my lord."
Turgon tapped the arm of his chair. "True."
Silence fell. Morwen's temper rose. Why waste her time sending for her and then have nothing to say?
Turgon cleared his throat. "Pardon me, child, while I gather my thoughts. It's a delicate subject that I wish to speak to you about, in particular concerning your future prospects—"
His words worked on her as well as any kindling. Morwen held up a hand. "Yes, Lord Turgon," she said, her voice echoing through the cavernous hall. "With respect, I have a few remarks to make on that score."
The lines on his face arranged themselves into a look of grudging surprise. "You have, eh?"
"Yes. It's not a well-kept secret that you interfered in my affairs with help from your daughter-in-law. Nor is it a secret that you ordered my cousins to return to Dol Amroth for the sake of allowing Prince Thengel to act solely as my travel companion. All of this you arranged with Marshal Oswin with the intention of encouraging an understanding between his nephew and myself."
Lord Turgon stared down his nose at her without a trace of embarrassment. He looked nearly bored! "I am quite familiar with my role, yes. What of it?"
"Well," Morwen faltered momentarily, "I didn't appreciate it."
"Didn't appreciate it?" Turgon parroted. He watched her for a moment before saying, "I call that ungrateful."
"Ungrateful? You went behind our backs, put my cousin in a difficult position, without once consulting us…"
Turgon raised his rod, silencing her. "On the contrary, I had a candid conversation with Prince Thengel where I told him quite plainly to stop dithering over property rights and marry you himself."
Morwen's jaw went slack. "Lord Turgon!"
"What? Taking yourself off the market is an efficient way of dealing with unwanted, persistent suitors. Everyone knows that. What are parents teaching their children these days?" He sniffed. "I'm sorry we didn't consult you on the spot, Lady Morwen, but these conversations have a way of cropping up unexpectedly…rather like now."
Morwen flushed. Neither Thengel nor Wynflaed had told her that part of the conversation.
"What's the matter, child? Don't you like Prince Thengel?"
"I'll have you know I like him very much, but…"
"But you want to think of it yourself without a bunch of crusty old men sitting in a back room deciding it for you."
Morwen glanced up at the gold vaulting. "Yes!"
Turgon's chin sagged down to his chest as the weight of the world rested on him. "That's typical of youth in these troubled times. In my day, why, one's elders arranged one's life and one had the sense to be grateful for it."
"But my elder relations are dead, sir."
"As your father's old friend, I flatter myself that I may occasionally take an interest in the welfare of his daughter, particularly when there's a chance of securing your future. A prince is a good match. Prince Thengel can offer you a position and security you'd be hard pressed to find in another husband."
"That's very kind of you, Lord Turgon, but really I think I can manage for myself."
"But eligible princes don't gad about Lossarnach everyday, you know. They need direction. They don't just turn up at the door unannounced."
"They do in my experience," she said to herself.
"How are you supposed to move up in the world without a little help? Your parents left you very little to live on and I imagine you're more inclined to meet woodcutters than anyone of your own station."
"I'm well aware of the difficulties of finding a suitable husband. But that's beside the point, Lord Turgon. When I make up my mind to marry Thengel, I shall tell him so without any assistant from you, from Lady Idhren, or anyone else. That's all I wish to say."
"I see. You're that definite, are you?"
"Yes."
He nodded with satisfaction. "Well. That's fine then. Have you finished venting your spleen?"
"No, Lord Steward. Furthermore, I would like to add…"
"Hem."
Morwen saw red when Turgon's smile tugging at his lips. Her mouth snapped shut before she said something fatal. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the chamberlain had enter a second time and gesture toward the Steward.
Lord Turgon held up a gnarled finger. "Pardon me, Lady Morwen. I don't mean to interrupt what promises to be an interesting soliloquy, but the Warden has arrived from the Houses and I know his time is pressing."
Morwen blinked. "Excuse me?" She turned to find the Warden approaching. His arms were stuffed with long rolls of paper. "Oh. Hello, Warden."
"My dear Lady Morwen." He bowed and almost lost his scrolls. "Oops. Thank you for coming from so far to be here."
"What is this about?" Morwen asked. Her stomach quivered the way it always did whenever she missed a step coming down the stairs.
Lord Turgon steepled his fingers under his nose. "It's a business meeting. The Warden here feels especially eager to share his plans with you regarding the gardens scheme, of which I believe you are moderately knowledgeable from your last visit to Minas Tirith."
"Yes," she said hesitantly, confused by the change in the wind.
"I'm afraid I invited you here in order to meddle further in your affairs, seeing that my first attempts to raise you up didn't materialize," Turgon admitted. "But perhaps that's more of an intrusion that you'd like…?"
"Oh." Morwen plucked at her sleeve sheepishly glancing at the floor. "Um…"
"You see, word came to me about the devastation recently wrought on your lands around the same time the Warden and Master of the Archives approached me for aid for their project. As an old friend of your father's I have taken a little interest in your predicament. And I thought perhaps the three of you could work together toward an agreeable arrangement that would benefit both Bar-en-Ferin and Gondor."
Morwen swallowed, feeling vaguely that instead of missing a step, she had jumped off the top of the stairs and landed in a messy pile of her own false conclusions. And had accidentally revealed far more about the state of her own heart to the old Steward than she had ever intended!
The Warden cleared his throat, saving her from replying. "Lady Morwen, if you remember the details of the project, recall that we were missing one vital piece: the land required for our gardens. We were hoping that perhaps we might convince you to open up your home for our project. If you would just step over to that table under the windows, I'd be happy to show you some of the schematics I've taken the liberty of drafting."
Morwen allowed herself to be led to the window. Turgon remained in his low chair and she felt only too happy to turn her back on him till her blushes subsided. Once the Warden rolled out the plans, Morwen felt an uncomfortable sense of deja vu as the blueprints materialized and she once again recognized her little estate.
"How did you get this?"
The Warden regarded her with something like nervousness. "Em. Lord Daeron, actually, supplied the vital information, having had similar plans in his possession. He's donated a rather large sum to the project and he said something vague I didn't quite understand, but perhaps you will. He said he hoped to make up for past mistakes." Then the Warden chuckled. "I knew you would persuade him to part with his money, in the end."
Morwen cringed, feeling alternately hot and cold. She did know what Lord Daeron had meant and she supposed he did feel sorry for his contribution, however inadvertent, to the damage of her estate. But the connection between these schematics and Halmir's made her feel ill.
This is different, she thought. She had a choice this time.
Morwen perused the plans, listening to the Warden and asking questions until eventually his enthusiasm won her over. It would take time to think of her home differently, but she liked that the gardens would promote education and preservation of native species, not simply provide an escape for overheated city dwellers. She even allowed herself to imagine where the greenhouses would go.
"But isn't Imloth Melui too far from the city?" she asked.
"Bar-en-Ferin will serve two purposes. The gardens there will serve as an education and research center, and as a repository. Once we have established the gardens, we can select choice plants for a smaller site on the Pelannor that will be open to the public with rotating exhibits."
Morwen nodded. "I see."
One detail bothered her however. She didn't recall Lord Turgon being included in the Warden's original plans. And she still felt suspicious of him.
"And what is your involvement in this, Lord Turgon?" she asked, turning toward the chair.
The Steward sniffed. "Purely fiscal, I assure you. I can offer you a stipend from the royal coffers to go toward the project, particularly toward materials and labor. Structures will have to be built, greenhouses and such. And there's the little matter of renting the land."
Rent! If they subleased the land it would solve another problem, the gouge to the estate's income from the loss of crops. But one fly still remained in the ointment.
"That's all very well, my lord, but I will need the approval of Lady Ferneth."
"I don't see why," Turgon said. "You are planning to dwell in Imloth Melui for the foreseeable future, aren't you? I was under the impression that you bought the land."
"It wasn't for sale," she bit off.
Something flickered in Turgon's old eyes. "Not for sale. Oh. How interesting." Then he stopped to listen to the city bells tolling the hour. "Well, I'll leave you to negotiate with the Warden and the Lady of Lossarnach." He rose from his dark chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long list of audiences today. Some people," he intoned, "appreciate a little interference from the Steward every now and again."
Morwen took the hint and curtseyed. "Thank you, Lord Steward," she said humbly. "This is, of course, good news for my plantation."
"Yes, I know. Good day, Lady Morwen."
Dismissed, she walked out with the Warden, helping him juggle the rolls, listening with only half an ear to his hopes and plans for the project. The conversation hadn't gone at all like she had thought it would, yet now she had hope for the plantation, providing Ferneth agreed to the scheme.
But of one thing she felt certain: she would begin the project, but others would see its fruition. It was the first time she had thought in concrete terms of her future away from Bar-en-Ferin, setting it up for someone else's success. It was an odd feeling, like being cut loose from a tether and left to drift. Where would she end up if someone didn't catch her?
…
Guthere hadn't materialized at the fountain again, so Morwen decided to continue with her second errand in the city. Nervous, she led herself to the Steward's house and a servant opened the door to her before she could knock. Rather than being ushered in to Lady Idhren's rooms, the lady of the house appeared in the foyer with another servant trailing behind her. She reached out with both hands to clasp Morwen's clammy ones. All the while, her cat and canary grin remained fixed in place. Had they been watching for her?
"Ah, Morwen. I received your note. So nice to have you in the city again."
"Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Lady Idhren."
"Believe me, I've been eager to see you. There's so much to talk about since last we met." She glanced around the space. "Didn't any servant come with you?"
"Yes, Thengel's man. He's on an errand for me now."
"Ah. Good." Idhren told her, "You'll take tea with me and he should be back for you by the time we've finished."
Idhren coaxed Morwen into a pristine sitting room. A chubby boy and a dour woman occupied a laden table that dominated the space under a window overlooking the back garden. It took all of Morwen's concentration not to press her nose to the glass to judge the current state of the greenery — and perhaps to look for the bench where Thengel had first pledged to help her.
Idhren interrupted her thoughts. "Have you met Denethor? Darling, put down that cake and say hello to Lady Morwen. He's Thengel's godson, you know."
Morwen looked at the chubby boy with renewed interest. "Hello, Denethor."
"Hello," the boy said sullenly.
"And this is Niniel, my waiting woman."
Morwen nodded to a sullen faced woman who busied herself slicing a muffin into tiny slivers and arranging them around her plate. When finished, the woman took her time choosing which sliver to sample first. She managed to eat one before Idhren dismissed her and her son.
"Denethor, it's time for you to read to Niniel. Move along now."
"But mama, I want another cake…"
"And I want to enjoy a nice conversation with Lady Morwen. You've had enough cake for one day."
The boy glowered and so did her waiting woman, but they both rose to obey. Morwen felt a little sorry for Niniel, until she saw the woman tip the contents of her little plate into a napkin when she thought nobody could see.
Idhren indicated for Morwen to sit across from herself. A servant materialized to lay fresh plates before them, before disappearing again. Idhren poured tea.
"Thengel told us all about what took place in Imloth Melui when he came back. How is your estate?"
"Up until now, I would have said we were ruined," Morwen told her bluntly. "But today we've had good news, unlooked for."
Idhren considered her for a moment. "I'm glad." Then she said, "I understand you were involved in the duel that helped decide the plantation's future."
"Not on purpose."
Idhren smiled to herself. "No, I gathered that from Thengel's excessive guilt. Poor dear. One would gather that he took a stab at you himself."
"I'd rather not talk about it, really," Morwen murmured.
Idhren gave her a compassionate look, which Morwen hadn't expected from her. Then she grinned. "Let's talk about me then. I'm pregnant. Cake?" She gestured for Morwen to hand over her plate.
Morwen stopped mid-reach and blinked. "Oh. Congratulations."
Idhren heaped cake onto Morwen's plate "Thank you. I'm thrilled. To think this would happen at my age," she said, "which is thirty-five."
"Lord Ecthelion must be very happy," Morwen said, at a loss for another response.
"He doesn't know yet, as I've only just discovered it myself," she said matter-of-factly. "You're the first to know, which is why I had to send Denethor and Niniel out of the room."
Morwen shifted uncomfortably. "Wouldn't you want to tell Lord Ecthelion first?"
Idhren stared at her with something between pity and amusement. "Goodness no. Men never react the way you want them to about important news. Always tell another woman first. That way you won't be disappointed when he says something stupid like, 'That's nice, dear. Pass the chicken.'"
"You mean he won't care that you're having his child?" Morwen thought he sounded heartless.
Idhren rolled her eyes. "Of course he'll care, it just comes out sideways. When you've been married as long as we have, you'll find spouses grow rather complacent."
Morwen poked at the cake with her fork. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You've been a tremendous help already."
"Me?" Morwen asked, glancing up.
"Yes. He's become far more attentive lately. He even apologized for returning to Ithilien early. My theory is that seeing Thengel falling head over heels and fighting duels made him finally realize a little romance was missing from our relationship. And then one thing led to another…but you know all about that."
Morwen frowned. "That's more than I know, actually."
Idhren looked concerned. "What? About babies?"
"No…" Confound it. Why were conversations with Lady Idhren like skipping rope? "I mean about what you said concerning Thengel."
Idhren snorted. "Oh, that he's in love with you? Don't be silly. Everyone who knows him knows it."
"When I tried to ask him he yelled at me," Morwen grumbled.
Idhren sipped her tea, then said. "You can't expect him not to be a little excitable."
"Excitable!"
"People tend to be a little jumpy around the subject." Idhren smiled. "You know Ecthelion behaved the same way right before he asked me to marry him. We fought constantly. He admitted later that he lived in fear that I would choose someone else…although in his case, that was very nearly true."
"You were in love with two men at once?"
Idhren waved a hand in the air. "Oh, one of them only marginally. There were a few moments of weakness when I might have married Thengel himself if he'd asked. But then, he knew how Ecthelion felt, so he never did."
Thengel and Idhren! Morwen nearly fell backward in her chair. And she had chosen to come to Idhren for help!
Her hostess gave her an arch look. "Oh, you needn't turn green. That happened a long time ago. Why, you were probably only a toddler then," she quipped. Then she frowned into her teacup. "My goodness, you're young."
An uncomfortable thought came to Morwen, despite Idhren's assurances. "Is that why he's never married before now?" Because he'd been pining after Idhren? After all, he had come of age around the time Morwen had cut her first tooth — a fact she hadn't considered very heavily before now.
A faint look of surprise passed over Idhren's face. "Perhaps partially, but that was years ago."
Morwen bit the inside of her cheek. "Was there no one else that he loved? Even in Gondor?"
"No one of consequence. Certainly no one he told me about," she said with the firm conviction of being in Thengel's total confidence. "But consider that before this year he never believed he could pursue a woman from Gondor."
"He can't?" she said, not concealing her dismay.
"Couldn't, Morwen. King Fengel, or Lord Oswin really, has relaxed his stance on that score. But in the past certainly Thengel only had the choice of brides from Rohan. That fact coupled with my own husband's role in keeping him very well occupied in soldiering, he's not had much time for falling in love."
Morwen thought back to Guthere's account of falling in love with Hareth. Like them, it had taken an accident for Morwen and Thengel to meet and for Thengel to have the leisure to come to know her. Now that Ecthelion had Thengel back on the treadmill, another chance might not come again. She decided to appeal to Idhren's long standing friendship.
"Lady Idhren…"
"Call me Idhren. Thengel does and you and I are to be friends."
"Idhren. Thank you, I would like to be friends. And I need your advice. You know Thengel so much better than I do."
Idhren smirked a little, responding favorably to hints of her superiority. "For now. I expect you'll surpass me eventually."
Morwen intended to. "I need to speak to Thengel. He left not knowing how I feel about him and…"
"And you're worried he may never find out."
Morwen nodded. "I've written, but never heard back. Is it possible that any of my letters might be forwarded?"
"I'm not surprised he hasn't responded. Thengel only spent only three days in the city before riding out to Ithilien." Idhren leaned back in her chair and thought. "Sending word to the rangers is no easy task. They keep secret bases the couriers can't find. And it could be that he may not return until Ecthelion comes back to the city."
"When do you expect Lord Ecthelion to return?"
"Well, that's always the question. Every year he says," her voice deepened to mimic her husband, 'this will be the year he takes some time off for the family and lets his lieutenants have the run of things.'" She resumed her normal voice, but with a note of wistfulness in it that Morwen had never heard before. "But he always finds a way to push it off. Only the Valar know what would happen if we ever had a real war for him to worry about. Anyway, I'm rambling. To answer your question, he had better plan to be here in the winter when my time comes."
"He'd be gone that long?" That meant she might not see Thengel for nearly half a year! She would have to think of something.
Idhren gave her a knowing look. "Thengel isn't necessarily bound to Ecthelion's schedule, Morwen. Who can say? Although, I will tell you frankly that if you marry him, you're also marrying his duty. It's going to be a threesome and you will have to take second place much of the time."
Morwen felt Idhren watching her as she absorbed this information.
"You are going to marry him, aren't you?"
Morwen leveled her gaze at her hostess. "That's what you're telling everyone, isn't it?"
Idhren grinned. "See? It does make conversations so much simpler when we're honest. Try to remember that when you meet the Marshal."
Morwen dropped her fork. It landed in the piece of cake which she had reduced to a pile of crumbs. "The Marshal is still in the city?"
"Yes, but he won't be for long," Idhren told her. "He's going to meet Thengel in Ithilien before he returns to Rohan. His men have already moved their camp beyond the Rammas Echor. Morwen, if you wish to send word to Thengel…"
Morwen's spine hardened with determination. "Then I need to speak to Oswin."