Dedication: To my nieces, who once told me when I was only a little younger than Thengel, "You should be married by now. You're going to die soon." Thank you for that excessively Victorian moment that inspired this iteration of Morwen.

Gratitude: Thanks to the ladies of the Garden for critters.

A Consolation of Princes

Chapter 1: A Consolation of Princes

Now this looks like a job for me so everybody just follow me.
- Without Me, Eminem

oOoOo

Morwen considered the comfortable family scene in front of her. The lord of the house sat with his book in his chair near the fire while her mother cataloged the day's events that hadn't quite gone to plan. Lady Gwereneth calculated the guests who hadn't responded to their invitations but had shown up regardless, trying to discover if most of the irresponsible individuals represented the groom's or the bride's side.

Morwen herself had chosen to sit as far from the grate as she could where an unseasonably warm fire licked at the fender to keep her perpetually chilled mother comfortable. Occasionally, she would nod her head in her mother's direction to show that she listened. Meanwhile, she occupied herself with the sheaves of her father's almost dearest paper and a set of pencils, sketching caricatures of all the guests in attendance at her brother's wedding that morning. She glanced down at the paper before her and considered her own view of those events rendered in vivid colors.

The whole day had proven to be quite diverting, for the most part. Her new sister-in-law had complimented Morwen by asking her to be the maid of honor, which she felt she had executed with distinction. After all, she had planned for all eventualities from wilted flowers to kidnapping. She'd kept an extra long pin hidden in her flowers just in case Tathren had any jealous lovers in the offing. Of course, after the officiant had droned on for the full hour about the purpose of marriage, the traditional roles of the couple, and the expectation that the couple would add considerably to the genealogies, etc. etc. Morwen felt this part of the rite would justifiably put off the most ardent of lovers, let alone the onlookers.

Morwen recalled beginning to hope someone might come to kidnap the bridesmaids. Only the occasional shared glance of misery with the groom's side of the tableau had kept her from embarrassing the whole family by falling on her own pin.

The rest of the festivities had entertained Morwen and paid her out for the dull ceremony. But that had come to an end. Gaeron and Tathren were married and ensconced in an undisclosed inn somewhere until tomorrow when they would take a vessel down river to stay at a vineyard for a few weeks before returning to the family estate in Lossarnach. Some cunning person had devised a way to get rich guests to pay the farm for the dubious honor of stomping on the grapes as a novelty. Of course, as the grapes were as yet flowers on the vine, Gaeron had gotten a reduction on the rate. He had told Morwen that they weren't going there for the grapes, anyway. Morwen had noted that the flowers would be just as pleasant and that seemed to amuse him in a manner that she didn't understand.

The servants came in with fresh candles, the better for Lord Amarthor to read by, but he had begun to nod off. Bobbing for apples, Morwen and her brother used to joke about the way their father would dip forward head first, startle almost awake and then lean back in his chair until another dip.

Morwen felt a little pang at the loss of her co-conspirator. She couldn't imagine sharing the jest with her mother, who would think it disrespectful. As her brother's marriage had been Morwen's own doing, however, she strove not to have any regrets about quiet nights with parents who didn't appreciate her playfulness. Gaeron used to joke that it was the result of being the child of their age, a lofty way of expressing that Amarthor and Gwereneth had not expected another child to put in an appearance fifteen years after their first and they had gotten too crotchety by then to deal with her.

After another steep bob that nearly sent Amarthor out of his chair, his wife sent him to bed before he could cause his neck an injury. Shortly after, a footman announced the presence of an unexpected guest, which made Morwen look up from her sketches with the enthusiasm she could not spare her mother. That enthusiasm, however, sent some of her pencils scattering in several directions.

Lord Thengel, Gaeron's best man, strode into the room and bowed to Gwereneth, who had risen to greet him. He had changed out of his wedding attire into a more casual linen tunic and a light surcoat for the drinking to the newlyweds' health that usually commenced in the city's taverns the evening following the ceremony. Morwen thought he looked very tidy for someone scheduled to be carousing.

"I apologize for the lateness of my call," he said pleasantly. "I see Lord Amarthor has already gone to bed."

"You are very welcome, Lord Thengel. I'm sure Morwen would agree if she had any manners." Her mother gave her a pointed look from across the room.

Unable to master her pencils and papers fast enough to rise with her mother, Morwen settled for patting the cushion next to her in invitation.

"What are manners among old friends?" Morwen quipped.

"Important for keeping them," her mother retorted.

"He knows I'm pleased to see him. Don't you, Thengel?"

He smiled. "I hope so."

Thengel folded himself onto the couch beside Morwen after Lady Gwereneth returned to her chair. He helped Morwen gather her pencils while he exchanged pleasantries with Lady Gwereneth about the wedding and answered questions about health that they all chose to forget had already been given that morning. That settled, Lady Gwereneth picked up her sewing once more and left the young and even younger people to themselves.

Thengel leaned over Morwen's shoulder to see her work and made a disapproving face. It would have succeeded as a reproof but for one eyebrow that wouldn't agree to look stern in her presence. Morwen laughed at it.

"Is that me?" he asked, pointing to the right side of the scene. "Is my forehead really that large?"

"It has to be," she replied, handing him the paper, "to hold up that great big crown one day."

"You're mistaking the House of Eorl's with the crown of Elendil, which is indeed large and unwieldy. In Rohan it's more of a circlet with a small jewel that rests over the brow."

"Oh."

Thengel cleared his throat. "And not to put too fine a point on it, Morwen, but my hair is not the color of mustard paste."

Morwen studied his hair with a critical eye. "Certainly not in real life. It's a caricature, Thengel. And if you peek at people's artwork without permission, you may witness things you don't like. Besides, that's me across from you."

His eyes traveled from the page to her face. "Your jawline does not resemble a coal shovel."

"I know. It's only there for self-defense in the event that one of the subjects gets ahold of my work," she said pointedly. "See? Equal treatment. Everyone looks ridiculous." Her lips curved into a subtle smirk. "I knew you would be sensitive about your hair."

"I am not sensitive about my hair."

"No? Remind me how you met Gaeron. Did he not accuse you of wearing a woman's wig made from dried flax?"

Thengel grinned at the memory. "He learned otherwise."

"And now you keep it cut so short and brushed back that he doesn't have anything to pull."

Thengel ran his fingers over his hair. "I have also learned a thing or two." Then he grinned at her. "I noticed in this caricature that you understated the way your ears stick out."

Morwen blanched and snatched back the portrait. "You are not very gallant toward me this evening," she sniffed, "bringing up the one Mortification of my life."

"Why would you be mortified by your great uncle's ears? They made Prince Aglahad look quite venerable, I always thought," he mused. "Granted, you'll have to wait for the tufts of hair to come in for the complete look."

Morwen bit her cheek to keep from laughing. She felt that after two years of not seeing one another, he didn't deserve the encouragement. Or the right to put her in a good mood.

"All right, Morwen?" he murmured. "You look like you need to sneeze."

Morwen squashed the laughter rising up, but only just. "Fine. I'm only trying to remember why exactly I've missed you."

"Did you?"

Morwen decided not to answer. She leaned forward to tuck the portraits away behind her skirts lest her mother notice his interest and come to inspect them herself. Lord Amarthor had not spent a great deal of money on painting masters to have his daughter waste her talent on crude — if astute — sketches.

"Now that that's put away, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? We haven't seen you since you stationed out west and now we get to see you several days in a row," she rattled. "Shouldn't you be drinking Gaeron's health with his other friends?"

"I have already done so, but, eh," he said delicately. "I don't seem to have the same capacity for it anymore. And everyone else had wives and children to get home to. No. I've come to console you after your loss instead," he answered.

"My loss?"

He gestured to the cavernous quality of the sitting room. "I thought you would feel low at the emptiness of your home now that your brother is married and gone."

Morwen glanced at her the toes of her slippers, then back up at Thengel. "Oh that. Yes, the house is quieter this evening. You are mistaken, however," she said bravely if not exactly truthful. "Tonight I am celebrating my triumph."

His eyebrows rose. "Triumph?"

"Yes, the triumph of seeing the happiness of my brother upon entering the marriage state — something he certainly would not have achieved on his own without me," she added dryly.

"Are you suggesting, Morwen, that his marriage is your doing?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "Don't you think that a little credit should go to Gaeron and Tathren?"

"I admit they cooperated beautifully."

Thengel shook his head, a rueful sigh escaping him. "I see my services are not required." He gestured toward the rest of the room. "Here I thought to be a considerate friend; imagining the three of you turning into very dull creatures indeed, and that I could provide the remedy."

"Perhaps you came to console yourself?" she laughed, "now that your friends have abandoned you for wives."

He grinned self-consciously. "Perhaps."

"No fear," she said, tucking her arm through his, leaning against him the way she had many times as a girl. "Not all of your friends have deserted you."

"No?" he asked, looking down at her. "And who would that be?"

"Me, of course."

He smiled at her. "It would be better suited to say that you have not abandoned me yet. Naturally, you will follow the example of your brother."

"That's hardly imminent." She brightened. "We will make a pact. I won't marry until you do."

Thengel looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You're willing to wait for that?"

Morwen frowned. "How much longer do you plan to take?" She looked him over critically. "You do not have the luxury of waiting much longer, Thengel. What are you waiting for? I admit it's something I wondered about this morning while you stood next to Gaeron during the ceremony."

"The right woman hasn't come forward."

Morwen looked unimpressed. "Oh, is that all? You sound as if you're waiting for her to do all the work." She pursed her lips, studying him.

He watched her watch him. "Are you counting the lines on my face?"

She squinted. "I am examining your essence."

"My…what?"

"The incorporeal qualities that make you…you." She waved her hand in a circle to illustrate this.

"Why would you study that?" He didn't sound altogether clear on what that was still, despite Morwen's handwaving.

"Because I am trying to determine what your right woman might be like."

"Is that necessary for you to do?"

She glowered at his stupidity. "Of course."

"Why?"

"Because I would like to observe you objectively, which is not easy since I have known you my whole life. It takes concentration."

"To what purpose?"

"To understand how other women might perceive you as a lover."

He swallowed and looked away. "Oh."

"There has to be an element of attraction. Yes, I would say that is definitely a must."

She assessed him. As noted in his dress, Thengel had a proclivity for neatness. He was a tall man, though not a match for the men of her family. He had the build of a man who lived by the sword and occasionally by his fists. If he had scars, he didn't display them like some might. His eyes were a light and piercing blue. She had seen Thengel skewer fools with just a look, but she had also seen them brimming with humor. He had naturally fair skin that darkened considerably during the summer so that she barely noticed a difference between her brother and him except for the color of his hair which tended to bleach almost to white. None would complain about the health of his teeth unless he happened to bite them. But she expected that kind of thing from Gaeron, not Thengel.

When he had put up with her scrutiny long enough, he asked her, "What is your conclusion?"

Morwen tapped her lips while she considered how best to sum up. "Well, objectively speaking, understand, you seem an excellent specimen. Healthy in body, of sound mind, and still handsome."

Thengel's eyebrows jumped nearly to his hairline. "Still? It's good to hear that I exude some appeal while so near to death's door," he muttered.

She nodded. "Lucky you."

"It must be the blood of Eorl."

"Wouldn't that be rather thin by now?" she asked.

"Not when half of the community are your cousins of varying degrees."

Morwen started to reply before the meaning caught up with her. She paused, searching his face for the joke. He only looked mildly earnest.

"Well, never mind. Wherever you got it from it still does not explain how all of your friends have found wives except you. There has to be an explanation." She sucked in her bottom lip while she thought. "Perhaps you are purposefully trying to repel women."

"Morwen!" her mother gasped.

A dangerous twinkle shone in his eyes that did not make an impression on Morwen. "Am I repellent?"

"I am hardly an impartial observer," she drawled, "but I believe you suffer from want of application. Is it that you don't wish to marry?"

"No, but I've been occupied…."

"Occupied." Morwen tapped her lips again, thinking. "Hmm. That does have a ring of truth. Lord Ecthelion would send you all over the kingdom for years at a time. Yes, I imagine it is more difficult when you don't have close female relations nearby to help maintain connections. To conclude, yours is not a lifestyle conducive to modern courtship."

"What do you know about modern courtship?" he asked.

Morwen gave him an exasperated look. "Who else has a better grasp of the subject than a woman of twenty-two?"

Thengel rubbed his forehead. "Forgive me. I misspoke — wait, twenty-two?" he cried. "You're padding your age by nine months."

"That is the first rule of modern courtship," she sniffed. "Although in your case there may be such a thing as too much padding. We may have to focus on reverses."

"What do you mean we?"

"Thengel, I am trying to tell you that you're clearly helpless on your own as a lover and that I believe I could be of some service to you in that regard."

Lady Gwereneth began making a strange bubbling noise. Morwen and Thengel ignored her.

"In what manner?"

"I could find you a wife as I did for Gaeron."

The skin around Thengel's eyes crinkled as he squinted, perhaps envisioning this play out. "That is a hair-raising prospect." He glanced at her. "Why?"

"My sisterly affection for you insists on being useful."

Thengel's expression shuttered. "Oh."

"As a lady who is out in society, I'm perfectly suited to assist you. I happen not to be occupied and I do have some acquaintances in town and in the country. By the by, must your wife necessarily hail from Rohan or do you have a choice?" She smoothed her skirts, saying airily, "I hadn't considered it before now."

Thengel blinked. "I…no, but I can safely tell you that the type of woman I am looking for would not be found in the Mark."

"Good." When he looked surprised, she added, "I do not believe Father would allow me to travel to Rohan to find you a wife."

"Certainly not," her mother answered in Lord Amarthor's stead.

Thengel cleared his throat, glancing once at Lady Gwereneth, then back at Morwen. "I wouldn't put you through the unnecessary trouble of a long trip to an uncouth land for that reason."

Morwen's eyes widened with sudden interest. "Is Rohan considered uncouth?"

"Relative to the recent developments to indoor plumbing in Minas Tirith…I'd say yes."

Morwen looked grave. "Oh. I'm sure it's charmingly rustic." She stared once more at the toes of her slippers. "That is something to consider in a woman. Is it very likely that you will ever return to Rohan?"

"That depends entirely on whom you ask."

"I am asking you."

"It is not what I wish," he admitted. "But I have an uncomfortable feeling in my bones that I may be dragged back one day unless King Fengel discovers the elixir of youth — or another son."

"You really don't want to go back?"

"Well, before this evening, no. Now it might be a necessity." He pointed to his forehead. "So that the circlet can help hide the expanse of my forehead, you understand."

She smirked. "So, the answer is yes, you are likely to return and yes, you'd rather not."

He shrugged. "The probability is high. Nothing is fixed, however."

Morwen considered this information and began ticking off traits on her fingers. "This lady must be willing to relocate and she should not perhaps be too fastidious or attached to luxury…yet of a certain class eligible to marry into a royal family. And I suppose she will have to care for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Must she, Morwen?"

"It helps, in my observation."

"I defer to your judgment on the matter."

Morwen leaned back deeply into the sofa and stared up at the ceiling as she thought. Then she squinched her eyes shut. "I see in my mind's eye a country noblewoman from a very old vintage. She is somewhere between a youthful bloom and being considered of a Certain Age. Perhaps thirty."

"With or without padding her age?"

Morwen nudged him with her elbow. "Hush, Thengel. She is exactly thirty. In the absence of a husband and children, the focus of her life's passion is dog breeding."

Thengel snorted. Morwen ignored it.

"She is accustomed to the grit and grime of the kennel, is not unfamiliar with hand feeding the newly delivered bitches, and cleaning up the diarrhea of the pups. Her noble ancestor served as a lieutenant under Elendil himself."

"I don't feel so certain…."

Morwen sat up straight, eyes flashing. "But she's the only trusted advisor to Lord Ecthelion on the subject of hunting dogs. What more could you want?" she said in earnest over Thengel's objections. "Her mind is a veritable trove of information. And where there is information, there's sense."

"Not necessarily."

"She is known to all the court for her excellent knowledge and an open demeanor and is therefore excused for having ruddy cheeks and gowns covered in…."

"Do you know this woman?" he asked, suspicious.

Morwen blinked at Thengel, feeling like she had come out of a trance. "Well, that's what I imagine." She tugged gently on his sleeve. "Understand I am trying to develop a concept."

"Oh, a concept. I see." He shook his head. "The highborn lowbrow lady."

Morwen brightened. "Yes, that's it! You do understand. She must be someone…comfortable." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Someone…oh, what I mean is, someone who could be contented in a variety of circumstances and will be respectable whatever those circumstances may be…wise in the ways of the world, but not so wise in years that you'll want for heirs."

She unlaced her arm from his, turning so that she sat on the edge of the sofa and faced Thengel fully. She held an intensity in her countenance that nearly made him scoot over a little. "Tell me, and be truthful, what color of eyes do you favor?"

Thengel stared into hers with what felt to her like a dare. "Eyes? You mean to say that the right woman for me should have two of them? I began to imagine this person had probably lost one or two along the way — probably scratched out trying to break up a dog fight."

Morwen turned her nose up at him. "A woman may be a charming companion if she has no eyes at all. But if she happened to have eyes, Thengel, do you prefer them to be blue or brown or… "

He gripped her chin. "Each a different color, Morwen. Then I don't have to decide."

Morwen frowned against his fingers. "She must also possess a tolerance for a facetious personality," she mumbled.

"True." He let go of her face to point at the pile of wedding day sketches half hidden between her skirts and the sofa. "Remind me, how exactly were you responsible for joining Gaeron to his wife? You'll forgive me if I wish to see credentials."

Morwen sat back languidly. "Oh, it was entirely my idea. Did not Gaeron mention it? How ungrateful. You see, we attended a banquet held by the Keeper of the Keys last spring."

"I don't remember. Where was I?"

The question had the effect of drawing an icy curtain over Morwen's features. "You had somewhat recently been stationed in Pelargir at the time. I had a pretty letter from you the day before begging forgiveness for missing my presentation at Tower Hall after I particularly invited you — I mean," she glanced toward her mother, "after Father invited you."

Thengel raised an eyebrow.

"Well, the invitation arrived on his stationary, anyway," she amended.

"Ah, yes. You — I mean, Lord Amarthor — didn't reply so I assume I am still unforgiven?"

"Correct. Anyway," Morwen smoothed her skirt over her lap again as she recalled the events. "The banquet was my first outing since being presented. During dinner, I noticed a Beautiful Stranger from across the crowded hall."

"Tathren?"

"Well, it wasn't Gaeron."

He shook his head. "Silly of me."

"She sat near to Gaeron and I immediately thought how splendid it would be if they happened to notice one another as I felt they would be beautifully grouped in a painting."

"That's a basis for a relationship, is it?"

"Yes, Thengel. One day I will have them sit for me as the tragic Tar-Míriel and villainous Ar-Pharazôn." She ignored the choked sound Thengel hadn't managed to muffle. "So after dinner I had myself introduced to dear Tathren and then I suggested that we take a turn about the room together so that I could ward off potential rivals and…"

"And then you frogmarched her into Gaeron's arms."

Morwen scoffed. "I frogmarched her within a respectable distance and no nearer. What do you take me for?"

"Forgive me. Then you introduced them, they danced, and then happily ever after?"

Morwen held up a finger to stop his interruptions. "Nearly. You see, Gaeron happened to be standing with your mutual acquaintance, Lord Serion. I had to introduce her to both of them or risk snubbing the hosts by snubbing the guest."

"You've memorized your etiquette manual."

"I am a lady."

"So you've said. Please continue."

"Then Serion had the audacity to ask Tathren before Gaeron could," she recalled with a thread of steel in her voice. "You can imagine how provoking that was for my brother."

"An infernal way for Serion to behave," Thengel agreed, "but I believe very much in character. I've never known him to miss an opportunity…especially when he hasn't any sisters to create them for him."

Morwen scowled at him through half-lidded eyes. "You are teasing me."

"Yes, dear heart, but don't let that stop you. Did you overcome this adversity?"

Morwen picked up a strand of her hair, winding it around her finger, and nodded. "It all came right in the end. The opportunist ended up empty-handed and Gaeron prevailed once I explained to him that he had just experienced love at first sight."

They sat quietly while Morwen allowed Thengel to digest this information. He ran his fingers through the back of his straight blond hair in an absent-minded way. Then he glanced down at her.

"Perhaps it's my lack of education, but I don't believe love at first sight can be explained to the parties concerned," he challenged.

Morwen raised her chin. "Well, I loved the idea of them at first sight," she said shortly. "Say it occurred by proxy."

He watched her for a moment, before seeming to come to an understanding. "Forgive me, Morwen," he said companionably, "but the only part of this story that rings true is that Serion danced first with Tathren."

Morwen blushed. "Actually, that's the part that I may have amended with the telling."

"Explain yourself."

She lowered her voice so her mother would not overhear. "What I am about to tell you is in Strict Confidence."

"Why?" he whispered back.

"Because if Mother found out she would whisk me back to Lossarnach. For good."

Thengel held up three fingers. "I solemnly swear to never tell a soul."

"Thank you." She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. "Lord Serion asked me to dance first, not Tathren."

Thengel seemed to tense like a bowstring, causing Morwen to open her eyes and look at him.

"Serion," he echoed dully.

"Yes, Lord Serion, the extremely attractive lady-killer. Well, he asked me and I could see, as they are friends, that Gaeron would be no help, so I…." She shuddered. "So I threw Tathren under the wagon wheels."

"How so?"

"I invented a false truth." She winced.

Thengel's eyebrows cinched together. "A lie."

"Oh, that word."

"What did you say?"

"I told Serion that Tathren would be a more charming partner and that I had already engaged Gaeron to dance with me next." The confession came out so choked that Morwen wondered if Thengel had heard any of it — until she glanced at his face. Then she knew he had.

Thengel struggled to smother a grin. "Your brother."

Morwen buried her face in her hands. "Yes."

She could hear the laughter in Thengel's voice. "What possessed you?"

"I didn't drag Tathren over in order to beg for a partner for myself," she whinged into her palms. "Besides, something about Serion made me feel like hiding behind a curtain," she said through her fingers.

"With or without Serion?"

Morwen glared at him until he retracted the question.

"Thengel, he fits all the descriptions Mother has given me of Undeserving Men. I panicked. I knew someone like him would cross my path eventually, but I thought it would take longer than my first banquet."

Thengel massaged the back of his neck. He looked, Morwen felt, as if he regarded her as a newly discovered specimen of some kind. "You assume now that you've entered society it naturally follows that you'll be seduced?"

She looked at him with pitying condescension. "Of course. What could be more natural?"

He looked away briefly and cleared his throat. "And what did Gaeron do?"

Morwen almost shrugged but caught herself. "He played along, though I could see that he had been about to ask Tathren to dance. I believe he wanted very much to push me out of a window for ruining things."

"It wouldn't be the first time he's ejected someone through a window."

"I know," she sighed. "And it wouldn't have been so bad since we were on the ground floor, but eventually he did have his turn with Tathren so I think I'm forgiven."

"And did you escape Serion in the end?"

Morwen folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, a twisted ankle endured while dancing with Gaeron spared me from Serion."

"Twisted on purpose?"

Morwen gazed placidly toward the fireplace, avoiding Thengel's gaze. "Not to Serion's knowledge."

Thengel shook his head. "I've never known a polite society that didn't turn its citizens into liars. You could have told him no."

"And ruin my chances of dancing the rest of the night? No. You're prejudiced because of your upbringing in the brutal north," she accused. "Is it the extreme cold that makes your people so terribly blunt?"

"The Rohirrim aren't terribly blunt. It simply wouldn't occur to them to cover up the truth in layers of pretty bows and poppycock to make it more palatable to people they don't like. They say what they mean to everybody."

"I've noticed," she remarked, rubbing the skin behind one of her ears. "You're always telling me the truth about myself and it's not always flattering."

Thengel looked for a moment as if he had sat on something prickly. "All the better to avoid any resemblance to men like Lord Serion."

"Oh, you need never fear that. You're perfectly safe."

A crease appeared between Thengel's brows again. "Safe!" he grumbled. "There are some corsairs who might disagree."

"And any ladies?" she challenged.

He looked down his nose at her. "You can hardly expect me to own it to you."

Morwen's eyes swept over his face, assessing for a bluff. She said, "Fine. Keep your secrets." She lifted a foot a little from the floor and drew a circle in the air with the toe of her slipper. "Lord Serion did offer to test my ankle for soundness with the pretended motivation of consideration for me." She glanced up at Thengel through her lashes.

He gave her a startled look. "Did you let him?"

She put her foot down. "Of course not. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Nearly," Thengel muttered.

Lady Gwereneth put her sewing down. "Morwen, what are the two of you discussing so closely?"

"Nothing, Mother. I've been relaying Gaeron and Tathren's love story."

Lady Gwereneth pursed her lips, but kept her comments to herself.

Thengel turned back to Morwen with a shrewd expression. "While you set up your brother for future happiness at the expense of your ankles, what about securing your own? Serion aside, I thought you'd have a string of admirers hanging around your door tonight. I imagined Lord Amarthor beating them back with his encyclopedias."

Morwen laughed at that image. "They would have to be extremely aggravating for my father to notice. I'd be more likely to start beating them off myself."

"Really? I thought you'd like it."

"Oh, I'm very particular."

Thengel studied a hangnail on his thumb. "You didn't meet anyone besides Lord Serion to pique your interest?"

Morwen frowned. "Society in Minas Tirith is so thin of interesting men that I've decided to give up thinking of marriage. Instead, I will devote my life to making matches for other people now that I know I have a genius for it."

Lady Gwereneth cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the new candles that had begun to drip in long wax runnels. "I believe Lord Thengel has heard enough nonsense for one night."

Thengel took her point. "On the contrary, Lady Gwereneth, it has been an enlightening evening," he said as he rose.

Before he could leave, Morwen snatched his hand. "You will allow me to help you, won't you?"

Thengel frowned down at her. "Morwen, I don't believe…"

"You can't deny me," she insisted. "It's my new life's purpose. Without it, I'll probably have to marry Lord Serion."

Thengel did not look impressed by this. "You might be out of his reckoning."

"Thank you." She gave him a bright smile. "Do you accept my assistance?"

"Well." Something made him pause. "The part of me lacking a sense of self-preservation is curious to find out what sort of creature you'll manage to scare up."

"I can do it! I will do it — and she'll be a perfect lady, despite what you think. In fact, I intend to find her before we return to Lossarnach next week."

Thengel blanched. "In a week? Don't you think that's hasty?"

Morwen tucked her hair behind her ear, sighing. "Perhaps, but who would I be able to find for you in a backwater place like Lossarnach? An herbalist with no teeth? The ladies are here in Minas Tirith. And thanks to Captain Ecthelion they outnumber the men quite a bit."

He regarded her for a moment. "Then let's set some rules, shall we? You have one week to produce this person. After that, I'm on my own. You will make no guarantees to anyone in my name."

"Guarantees?"

"Meaning," he said, resting his hand on her shoulder, "I won't wake up betrothed one morning without any knowledge of it because you got carried away."

"I would never presume," she huffed. "After all, you will have to do some of the work."

"One would think," he sighed. "And no hard feelings between us if I reject your findings."

Morwen gave him a dazzling smile. "None whatsoever. But I am confident that if anyone can recognize a bride for you, it will be me."

He regarded her steadily for a long moment. "We'll see if our opinions coincide on that subject."

"You do promise to give her a fair chance?"

For a second or two, he looked almost mutinous, but then he nodded.

"Shake hands?" she asked, offering hers.

He clasped her wrist in the manner of the people of Riddermark.

"That's settled then. Good night, Thengel."

"Good night, Morwen."

"You will hear from me soon."

"That's a promise then." Then he bowed to both of the ladies and let himself out of the room.

After the door closed behind him, Morwen gathered up her sketches, which she intended to feed to the fire as soon as her mother left for bed.

"Mother, why do you think Thengel has waited so long to marry?" she asked in a breezy tone that made her mother look up with suspicion. "I don't at all believe he's been too busy."

"He doesn't really belong here, does he?" Gwereneth answered as she packed up her sewing. She glanced at her daughter. "It's no business for you to worry about, is it?"

Morwen's eyes grew round at her mother's senseless question. "Then whose is it? He's been in the family for years."

"Being the particular friend of your older brother is not the same as being in the family, Morwen." Gwereneth gave her daughter an appraising look. "I've ignored it in the past, but I must say you are too old now to treat the heir of Rohan with such familiarity. It might give the wrong impression."

Of what? She only worried about Thengel's impressions and she knew for a fact that he wasn't in danger of misunderstanding her. Morwen chose, however, not to voice her opinion as her mother rose and crossed to the door. Gwereneth paused on the threshold and gave her daughter a dry look.

"And don't think for a moment that I'm ignorant about Lord Serion."

Morwen felt like a frog had gotten into her throat. "Good night, Mother," she croaked.

Gwereneth raised an eyebrow. "Don't stay up too late. We're attending Renneth's reception tomorrow for all the out-of-town guests before they depart. You won't want dark circles under your eyes. That woman notices everything."

Morwen had forgotten all about Tathren's mother's little farewell gathering. She hadn't been able to think beyond Gaeron's wedding day for some time. While she would normally prefer to sit at home after the flurry of wedding preparations during the last week, she thought she could use the gathering to her advantage.

"And one more thing," Gwereneth's voice pulled Morwen out of her reverie. "I would appreciate it if, while we're there, you could curb that continuous stream of talking that you've adopted recently."

"Yes, Mother."

"Hm."

Once Morwen was certain that her mother would not return, she crept to the fireplace and began to feed her sketches into it one by one. And while they burned, she screwed herself up for the task she had appointed for herself.

"Fool," she muttered while wishing she had the heart to burn that old letter instead.