A Consolation of Princes
Chapter 12: A Doubt of Friends
Morwen sighed in complaint as the kiss ended and Thengel rested his forehead against hers. They sat in that fashion for a while. Quiet. Breathing. She liked being so close to him but it wasn't as nice as being kissed. Slowly, she became aware once more of the breeze stirring her hair. The subtle swish of willows. The curiosity of bees. The chatter of ducks. The subtle song of the stream. She felt Thengel's chest rise and fall and as much as she wanted to be awake for every moment the rhythm threatened to make her dose off.
"I should bring you home."
"Your home?" she asked still a bit breathless.
She could feel his shoulders shake as he silently laughed. "Not if we're to avoid a true scandal."
Oh, yes. That.
Morwen reluctantly parted from Thengel, slipping off of his lap. A strand of her long hair had caught in his beard and she brushed it away. Then she glanced up at the sky where the sun had done them no favors by creeping so steadily west without their leave or notice. Morwen felt a little betrayed by it.
Thengel must have read her mind. "If we leave now," he said, "I can get you back before the evening meal when your mother is most likely to miss you."
Morwen smoothed her skirt over her legs. "And then what?"
"Then we can speak to your parents."
Morwen hesitated.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Well." She glanced at him, then away. "I've spent years concealing how I feel about you. The news might surprise my family. You know how well my parents enjoy the unexpected."
Morwen could tell by the look on Thengel's face that Eldacar and beavers were not far from his thoughts.
"But I'm hoping for relief." She gave him a crooked, somewhat gallows smile, which seemed like a better alternative to a tremulous frown.
Thengel stared at her. "Relief?"
"Yes. You're taking me off my mother's hands." Morwen allowed herself a shrug. "Provided she doesn't find anything to object to, then she might even be delirious with joy."
"That'll be the day the king returns." Thengel rubbed his brow. "I'll be taking you out of Gondor entirely, remember, not merely off her hands."
"Do you consider that a material difference?"
Thengel nodded slowly. "Leaving family and friends and familiar haunts, all without a clue as to when? Yes. Your mother might object to that."
He had personal experience as a basis, too, Morwen reflected. Her throat began to feel tight, not because of any latent regret, but because of the enormous weight of what had to be communicated to an audience whose feelings she felt uncertain of.
"And one must admit that there's a slight age difference," she said primly, "which some people might choose to scrutinize."
Thengel gave her a look. "Only slight?"
"I like to believe that I'm older on the inside." She wrinkled her nose while she mused, "In worldliness, I'm practically forty….which when averaged out with my recent birthday brings me to the ripe old age of thirty and a half."
Thengel gave her a wry smile. "I'm sure the gossips will take that into consideration when they perform the arithmetic." He rose and then held out his hand to her. "Are you ready to find out what people will think of me whisking off my dubiously aged bride to the uncouth north?"
"People may have guessed already." She winced. "But Mother and Father?"
"And Gaeron," Thengel added.
Morwen took his hand. "Oh, Gaeron. He might feel a little too bruised with his own marriage floundering to hear about us without it stinging a little."
"He'll feel more bruised if he doesn't hear about it." Thengel helped her rise. She picked her way off of the blanket, taking the plates to rinse in the stream.
"Are you sure? What if we avoid him altogether?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Yes, Morwen. I mean to tell him separately, if possible. I owe Gaeron that, at least." Thengel squinted at the city walls while he shook off the blanket and began to fold it. "He may take umbrage that I kept him in the dark about you."
"Then we might be forced to make a Grand Gesture." Morwen glanced doubtfully at the saddlebags on the ground as she returned from rinsing the dishes. "It would be something to visit Wilderland. We could meet their dragon killer. I'd rather face him than Gaeron in a bad mood."
Thengel smiled ruefully. "That journey would take a month at least. I haven't packed quite enough for that." Then, more seriously, he added, "I believe that honesty is best."
"I know you do — which makes this our first official disagreement as a couple." Morwen exhaled, waving a plate toward the city. "But onwards, I suppose."
Thengel gripped her shoulder. "In my homeland, we say, Eall here byþ hwæt þonne se lateow byþ hwæt. The éored is brave when the marshal is brave." He winked at her. "My knees won't knock if yours won't."
Morwen half laughed. "Now you're giving me too much credit. I used up all my bravado trying to match you with…." She covered her mouth at the last moment, remembering her penance. "Never mind."
…
Gaeron caught them in the end. They were riding back to the stables when he appeared on foot, having just left Tathren's lodgings. Morwen caught his eye by accident. She reined in Vanyaroco and brother and sister blinked stupidly at one another in the street of the sixth circle.
"Gaeron, it's you…." Morwen stammered, not quite prepared to meet her brother following the closest thing she'd ever experienced to a tryst. She wondered if it showed on her face.
"Hullo, Mora. Thengel," he greeted as he gave Vanyaroco his hand to snuffle. He looked pointedly at Morwen. "You'll be pleased to hear that I've made positive strides with Tathren despite your lack of assistance today," he said magnanimously. "Are you just coming back from your outing?"
Morwen nodded.
Gaeron surveyed Thengel with amusement. "Then am I to wish you joy?" he teased.
Gaeron's prescience made them stare in mute surprise as he stroked Vanyaroco's neck.
"As it happens," Thengel began. "Yes."
The smirk slipped. Gaeron gaped over the top of the palfrey's head at Thengel. He glanced at Morwen, then back at Thengel, looking more and more scandalized. "You mean Morwen's harebrained scheme worked?"
"Her scheme?" Thengel asked.
Gaeron folded his arms. "She told me all about it last night. This matchmaking business she roped you into."
Thengel saw light just a moment or two after Morwen. She reached across the space between them and gripped his arm to forestall him from correcting her brother just yet.
Gaeron looked around. His expression shifted as he noticed the size of their party. "Wait. Then where's Húnil?"
Morwen gave Thengel a look that said she would handle Gaeron. She ignored the pinch of unease on Thengel's face.
"Thengel didn't fall in love with Húnil after all," she explained, aiming for meekness. "You were right and I was wrong."
Her attempt must have succeeded because she noticed Thengel out of the corner of her eye, giving her an incredulous look. She had about as much native meekness as her mother had.
Gaeron smirked again at Thengel, Morwen's confession bolstering his good mood as she intended. "Ah, I can wish you joy for making a narrow escape then."
"But did he?" Morwen conjectured quietly.
Gaeron ignored her and, seemingly, the trace of a smirk that flitted across Thengel's mouth. "It's a fool's errand, I told her, setting you up with Húnil. How long did Mora make you suffer?"
"Longer than you know," Thengel murmured.
"Did the poor woman flee home already?" Gaeron chuckled.
Morwen weighed whether or not this moment merited a falsehood. And if she could count on Thengel to corroborate one. But he got ahead of her.
"Húnil had other arrangements to attend to this morning," Thengel answered.
Gaeron blinked from sister to friend, slowly taking in the fact of the horses, the saddlebags, and the angle of the sun…the lack of a third party. The magnanimity began to fade.
"It's been hours since I left you at Húnil's gate." He rounded on Morwen. "Were the two of you alone the whole time?"
"Not if you count horses and ducks," she answered. "Or bees."
Gaeron resembled a man who did not count horses or ducks or bees. Not where it concerned his sister. A rather rosy-looking sister.
"You know, the two of you ought to be more careful or else people might get the wrong idea about you."
Morwen turned to Thengel for support. But something in his eyes made her think distinctly of the pleasant contours of his body against hers when he'd kissed her on the picnic blanket. It made her toes curl in her boots. No help there.
"It's unlikely they've misread the situation," Thengel opined.
Morwen ducked her head to stifle a smile. She studiously picked a leaf fragment out of Vanyaroco's mane in order to avoid her brother's eye. Otherwise, she would lose her composure.
Gaeron squared his jaw, but said, "All the same, Thengel, I expect Morwen to go gallivanting off wherever she wants, with whomever. But you should know better. People get strange notions."
He gave a less than subtle nod toward a growing number of interested individuals who had surreptitiously gathered to admire the "architecture" of whatever building happened to be within earshot of Ecthelion's lieutenant and his interesting companions.
"If you're not otherwise engaged, Gaeron," Thengel replied as he cast an eye on the architecturally inclined gossips. "I'd like to address some of those notions in private."
Gaeron blinked in surprise but turned to walk alongside Vanyaroco. "Very well."
Morwen cleared her throat, feeling they needed something to fill the void until they reached their destination. "Tell us about your success with Tathren. Is she coming home?"
"Not yet," Gaeron admitted. "But I'm invited to supper, so I stepped out to change clothes."
"Invited?" Morwen felt a stab of irritation at the thought. "Why are they treating you like an outsider?"
"Renneth wants us to ease back into things," Gaeron explained woodenly. "A second courtship, she called it."
"For how long?" she asked.
"Who can say?" Gaeron shrugged.
It struck Morwen as odd that Renneth, not Tathren, seemed to be the author of this idea. "Do you want a courtship period?"
"Tathren didn't raise an objection, so…"
So, no. But what could he do if he wanted to prove to Tathren's family that he had learned from his mistakes? What a tangle.
"Thengel advised me to tread carefully," Gaeron added, exchanging a rueful glance with his friend. "So I'm treading carefully."
"It'll come right in the end," Thengel assured him. "If you can be patient."
"It's been days," Gaeron grumbled.
"Try years," Thengel muttered in return.
"What was that?" Gaeron asked.
"He means that we think we can find something to take your mind off of it," Morwen interjected.
"How?" Gaeron asked.
"Well." Morwen stared ahead. She could see Thengel's gate now, but they had a little ways to go before they reached any sort of privacy. "I can tell you a story about almost being hunted by a cat this morning."
Gaeron stared at her. "Eh?"
Morwen realized her error when Thengel looked stormy again.
"Yes, tell Gaeron how you were nearly killed in Húnil's garden," Thengel drawled with a touch of acid in his tone. "We've never hunted a desert cat together."
"What are you talking about?" Gaeron demanded. Then he tilted his head, considering. "Do they give good sport?"
"No," Morwen cried as Thengel muttered, "I'm willing to find out."
Morwen gave each of her companions a sharp look. "Never mind, the pair of you. It's a silly story which resulted in no harm done."
"The cat cornered her," Thengel said blandly, which proved to be as much a warning in him as meekness in Morwen. "Forty pounds of muscle, tooth, and claw."
Gaeron and Thengel looked at one another, their expressions inscrutable. The last time she had witnessed that look as a girl, one of the village lads who liked to throw rocks at her had suddenly given her a wide berth. A very wide berth. Come to think of it, the family might have moved to another village.
"It's impolitic to hunt Ecthelion's cousin's cat," she reminded them.
"Hm," they murmured in unison.
"You must admit that Nahtar's a very handsome creature," she added to take their minds off of Nahtar's murderous side. "He reminds me of Serion."
That earned her incredulous stares from both of her companions. Gaeron shook his head while Thengel's lips pressed into a thin line.
Perhaps she'd taken another misstep by referencing Serion. But Thengel hadn't made her promise not to. At least the story had taken Gaeron's mind off of Tathren and any concern over gossip. But now as they approached Thengel's gate she hoped that might put an end to any discussion of hunting.
Once they entered the yard, the boy ran out from a side door. Gaeron helped Morwen dismount with unusual eagerness. The boy took the lead ropes and walked the horses back to the stables while Thengel ushered Morwen and Gaeron inside.
Morwen forgot everything else the instant she stepped foot in the entry hall, distracted by the new knowledge that this would be her home, too. Every detail, even the persistent dust and bareness, felt fresh and interesting.
An odd, fleeting sensation overcame her. A desire of her own volition to sweep up the dust. It made her pause. Had she really experienced it or had she made it up? She touched her forehead. It felt cool and dry, so she couldn't blame this stroke of domesticity on a fever.
A slight sound of shuffling feet brought her back to the present. Gaeron and Thengel both watched her while she gazed around daydreaming. The shuffling feet belong to Gaeron.
"Stairs?" she asked, referring to today's choice of seating.
Thengel smiled self-consciously. "After last time, I ordered some benches to be brought back from the warehouse. They should have been delivered by now."
"Stairs?" Gaeron asked. "What last time?"
"Never mind, Gaeron," Morwen said. "We had nowhere else to sit after you left me behind yesterday. It took some time for a cart to arrive."
"Oh. Yes." Gaeron cleared his throat and winced slightly at his own thoughtlessness.
Thengel ushered them into the bare drawing room. Morwen took in the expanse of bookshelves and had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. He'd said he'd turned the house upside down for her. But it seemed that Thengel also meant to court her father's good opinion.
He deposited the saddlebags on a door that rested over two sawhorses, careful to avoid some documents lying there.
"We'd better get these back to the kitchen," Morwen said. "Before the picnic things go bad."
"Did you take Morwen on a picnic by herself?" Gaeron asked, his expression clouding over.
"I told you about the ducks and…" Morwen trailed off. Judging by Gaeron's cloudy expression, time hadn't altered his opinion about the suitability of waterfowl as chaperones.
"Am I reading this correctly," Gaeron asked. "The two of you rode down to the Pelannor for the day — together — even though Húnil couldn't come with you?"
Morwen glanced at Thengel, who nodded. "That sums it up, I'd say," he answered.
Gaeron crossed his arms. "That's interesting because today my mother-in-law brought some gossip to my attention regarding a certain reception for King Bard's ministers where the two of you stuck together like glue the entire evening."
Morwen considered some of those interesting moments when Thengel had held her particularly close before and during the dancing. "Is that the exact wording Renneth used?"
"No," he intoned. "And I didn't credit her turn of phrase until now."
"Not the entire night," Morwen corrected. "Thengel danced with Húnil and I danced with Serion until someone scared him off."
A muscle ticked in Thengel's cheek.
Morwen gaped at him. "Was that you? I thought one of Serion's past indiscretions had caught up to him."
"I considered it a current indiscretion," Thengel replied solemnly. "You'll remember my explanation to you yesterday about how I feel when someone tries to take what is mine."
"Mine?" Gaeron sputtered. "What do you mean mine…I mean yours?"
Nobody paid him any attention.
"Hm." Morwen crossed her arms. "Where was that possessiveness a year ago?"
"Biding it's time," Thengel answered. "But now that's run out."
Morwen brightened. "Fair game?"
"Not for Serion," Thengel drawled wolfishly.
The two stood grinning foolishly at one another. Gaeron said something neither one of them bothered to hear. Then Morwen's gaze turned vague as her mind jogged to rearrange the events of the reception. She knew she would have to reinterpret the entire week under this new light.
Morwen bit her lip as one particular moment stood out. "At dinner the other day, when I met you at the door you seemed suddenly alive and happy…"
"For a brief moment, I thought you understood me," Thengel told her. "Imagine my dismay when you'd invited Húnil to dine as part of your special project instead."
"Understood what?" Gaeron groused.
Morwen cupped her cheeks with her hands, forgetting Gaeron entirely. "Oh." She winced. "Thengel, I'm so sorry…I let your letter color everything. I couldn't see past it."
Thengel reached for her hand, which she gave him. He squeezed it. "Never mind. I'm sorry it caused you so much pain. But it's all settled now. I only hope you've burnt that letter."
Gaeron had been steadily turning redder throughout the conversation as the veil lifted for him. "You've been writing to one another?"
"I will burn it," she promised Thengel. "Now that I know how you really feel."
"How does he feel? Never mind." Gaeron's expression deepened into a severe glower as he stared at their entwined fingers. "Thengel, I need a word."
"You may have it." He let go of Morwen's hand and gestured for them to sit on the benches.
Gaeron crossed his arms. "Alone, if you please."
Thengel's lips thinned for a moment. He paused, then said, "Morwen has a right to be present."
"That's all right. Give me the picnic things. I'll find Sadril," she said with an acquiescence that should have been a warning to both of them.
"That's not necessary, Morwen," Thengel said.
Morwen gave him a look. She wanted to stay but Gaeron always treated her like she had glass ears that would shatter at the sound of a choice or irreverent word. If she could find a way to listen in, then she'd hear what Gaeron thought without him resorting to delicate phrases and euphemisms.
Thengel looked like he wanted to argue but decided to die on a different, more pressing hill. She brushed his arm as she passed him on her way to the door, which he acknowledged with a small smile that Gaeron couldn't see.
Morwen stood alone in the passage for a moment, looking for a place to dump the bags. She had no intention of taking them to the kitchen and risking missing something important. But the boy must have signaled their arrival to Sadril earlier because the housekeeper arrived in the passage a moment later looking unsurprised by Morwen's presence.
Sadril took one look at Morwen, then said, "Is he marrying you or not?"
Morwen blinked. "How did…?"
Sadril clucked her tongue, which provided all the explanation she would give.
Morwen gestured at the door. "I agreed but now your master's about to deliver the news to my brother."
A brother whose mother-in-law had put him in a suspicious mood, rendering her earlier attempt to stroke his pride entirely moot.
Sadril took the saddlebags. "Master Gaeron?"
Morwen nodded.
"Should be lively then." Sadril glanced at the door. "The keyholes in this house are excessively large, lady. I'll find you a cushion." Then she stalked back the way she'd come.
A little while later, the housekeeper returned with a plush cushion, a sheet, a broom, and a bucket of water. She left the bucket beside the door.
"What's the water for?" Morwen asked.
"I'm sure you'll find a use for it," Sadril muttered.
Morwen got out of her way while Sadril swept the area around the door and then laid down the sheet so that Morwen's skirt wouldn't be covered in any persistent dust.
She knelt down. The keyhole looked original to the house from a time when they made keys large enough to use as pocket weapons. She could see through it into the room with ease, though with limited scope.
Gaeron's waist cut into view. "It doesn't matter what time Renneth's supper will be served. Now let me ask you a question."
Once Gaeron paced out of view, she saw Thengel leaning against a bookshelf with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes followed Gaeron's trajectory through the room. "If you wish," he replied calmly.
"Explain why you exposed my sister to gossip by riding through the city along with her?"
Gaeron blocked her view again, so she couldn't see Thengel's expression. She never realized her brother had turned into a nervous pacer like their father. He'd chosen an inconvenient moment to develop that nervous trait.
"We had a picnic on the Pelennor where Morwen agreed to marry me."
Silence. Then Gaeron blustered, "Excuse me?"
"Morwen consented to marry me, Gaeron."
Morwen almost snorted at Thengel's condensed version of the afternoon. Not that she blamed him for keeping the sensitive details to himself. If Gaeron found out about the orange cakes he'd probably try to steal their cook. Morwen couldn't allow that to happen. Not for anything. She hadn't lived before those cakes.
As for the kisses…
Gaeron would probably feel unhappy about what else happened on the picnic blanket even if it didn't come close to Húnil's novel ideas for a sofa. Their behavior hadn't scandalized the ducks, but even so, Gaeron seemed especially sensitive today.
Gaeron scoffed somewhere out of sight. "That's a tasteless joke," he groused. "Did Morwen put you up to it?"
Thengel's eyes looked sharply to his right in Gaeron's direction. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Gaeron, I intend to make Morwen my wife. I've drafted a letter to Fengel's council explaining the betrothal if you care to read my official intentions."
The existence of such a letter caught Morwen by surprise. When had he written it?
"Fengel's council, indeed," Gaeron snorted as he came back into view.
When Thengel produced the document from the desk deeper in the room, Gaeron's brow darkened. He scanned it quickly, noting the very official seals dangling from the parchment with some confusion.
"But…" Gaeron stammered. He considered Thengel's stolid expression. "You can't be serious."
"As serious as a magistrate at assizes," Thengel assured him.
"I don't believe it." Gaeron waved his hand. "I know that Morwen's trying to truss you up with Húnil. She told me so last night."
"Don't expect her to succeed," Thengel answered dryly.
Morwen bit her lip as the expression of patient suffering returned to Thengel's face. Given how deeply she'd misunderstood his feelings for her, she felt compelled to admit that she'd put him through a Trial over the last few days.
Gaeron snorted. "I don't and I told her as much."
"Then you know that Húnil isn't an object for me."
Gaeron stood silent for a moment, the wheel of his mind visibly churning the waters of thought. Then an ugly expression marred his profile. "That letter," he pointed to Thengel's desk where the parchment lay. "You're sending that to the king? With my sister's name on it."
"As soon as I receive your family's blessing to do so, yes." Thengel reached out and grasped Gaeron's shoulder. "Looks like you'll be my brother both in arms and in law."
Gaeron stood in shock as the truth came home to roost. Then he shook off Thengel's hand. "By the Tree, Thengel. Mora's barely grown. Just twenty-one years old — the age you were on her fourth birthday."
"I know it's unusual."
"Unusual?" Gaeron barked. "It's worse than that. It's…irregular." He paced a few more times before pausing in front of Thengel again. "Are we talking about the same child who draws silly pictures instead of attending to her duties? You can look at her in that way?"
"Give Morwen some credit," Thengel argued. Then he said, "She has an astute sensibility."
"Astute?" He stared at Thengel as if his friend had sprouted a cabbage from his neck. "Her work's nothing more than absurd doodles. A completely ridiculous way for a lady of her station to draw."
The expression in Thengel's eyes could cut glass. "Perhaps you're confusing the medium with the lens."
"Huh?"
"Have you considered that the artist renders the world and the people in it as they're presented to her?" Thengel challenged. "If the sky is blue, don't blame the painter."
While Gaeron scoffed, Morwen felt herself blushing. No one had ever tried to interpret her artwork in her hearing. She couldn't tell which sensation won out — warmth at Thengel's deep consideration or the mortification that came with being entirely dismissed by her own brother.
"By that frame, you're suggesting that the world is completely absurd."
Thengel looked askance. "Are you saying it isn't?"
"Of course," Gaeron retorted. "There's reason. There's logic. There's order..."
"In the year 2885 Folcwine's worthy sons, gold-givers, died in Ithilien fulfilling the Oath of Eorl. The youngest son, rotten with avarice, ascended the throne in their stead." Thengel frowned bitterly. "Don't tell me the world isn't absurd."
"Thanks to that absurdity, as you call it, you're next in line to be king."
Thengel leaned back against the shelf letting the silence answer for him.
"You can philosophize Mora's drawings any which way it suits you, but I still think she's childish," Gaeron sputtered on. "The material point, Thengel, is that she's either in need of maturing or else exceedingly impertinent."
"Certainly impertinent," Thengel replied with a faint smile. "And you'll note that I'm not spared by her pencil, either."
"Yes, very endearing," Gaeron groused. "That's the type of girl you want as your consort? Or is that what you're telling her so that she'll lower her guard around you?"
The smile disappeared. Thengel's jaw worked for a long moment, before he asked, "What are you suggesting, Gaeron?"
"I don't want to suggest anything, but becoming a wife — becoming a queen…at her age." He laughed, but it sounded dark and unpleasant. "What sort of good could she do you except keep your bed warm? Maybe that's all you want."
"Think of what you're saying," Thengel warned in a low growl. "This is your sister."
"That's what alarms me." Gaeron resumed pacing. "I know Mora's been infatuated with you for years but I never thought you'd take her seriously. She never takes anything seriously at all!"
"Very seriously, as it happens," Thengel replied. "She's not a child."
"A convenient point of view for a man with your…appetites." Gaeron worried the buckle on his belt while he thought, not noticing how his words caused Thengel to blanch. "This has to be her idea. This silly fixation to get you married off to someone in seven days. She would throw herself on the fire just to succeed."
Morwen began to feel dizzy from the accusations and the circular reasoning. For a moment, Gaeron's newest opinion seemed to get the better of Thengel for its depth of stupidity too. She began to feel the need to intervene.
But Thengel rallied and said dryly, "Fortunately, it's an idea that occurred to both of us. I'm told that's the nature of consent. You're looking for dark motives where there are none."
"Well, if there's nothing untoward going on," Gaeron countered, "then why isn't Morwen telling me about it herself?"
Thengel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Think, man. You insisted on a private conversation," he reminded Gaeron with fraying patience. "Tell me, what about this engagement worries you?"
"What about it shouldn't worry me? I had no idea until this moment that you'd ever looked at Morwen that way. I trusted you as a brother," Gaeron said. "And I'm rewarded with secrets?"
"I had nothing to tell you before now," Thengel explained. "When I first learned what my feelings were, I kept my distance but —"
Gaeron's color changed. "First learned? How long has this been going on?"
"A little over two years."
Appalled, Gaeron raked his hair away from his face, struck by spontaneous arithmetic. "Nineteen. Thengel, she was just nineteen then! I can scarcely believe it." He seemed to struggle in his mind. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why would I tell you when I couldn't approach her with my feelings?"
Sadril returned again with a mug of tea for Morwen, so she didn't get to see her brother's face just then.
"How are they progressing?" the housekeeper whispered with the subtlety of a horn.
"Horribly," Morwen whispered, accepting the drink. "Gaeron might throw Thengel out of a window. Are there any more of those delightful orange cakes?"
She thought she might have to leave them in a trail to lure Gaeron out of the house and save Thengel from further mortification.
Sadril grinned. "Did you like them? Cook and I thought they might help our master's cause."
Morwen blinked. She'd spent so much of her week arranging Thengel's romance with Húnil that it never occurred to Morwen that someone might be maneuvering her, as well.
"How clever," she murmured.
Sadril smirked. "I'll bring you some more."
The housekeeper disappeared again. Morwen cautiously sipped the steaming tea and almost spit it out again. Raspberry leaf! Morwen cast a wary glance at the ceiling, picturing in her mind's eye the two other floors of bedrooms and playrooms and nurseries. She didn't know if she should congratulate Sadril for her dedication to her master's cause — or run for it.
Before she could make a decision, Gaeron's voice carried through the door, forcing her attention back to the argument at hand. She pressed her cheek against the wood and peeked through the keyhole again.
Gaeron's expression had sharpened during the interval and his voice turned hard. "You waited until after my wedding to sneak into the house to get at her, for one thing. How often have you stolen opportunities to be alone with her?"
Morwen burned all over. As if Thengel had been sniffing around her heels for years, luring her in. The opportunities had presented themselves and what had he done? Gone to hide on the coast with the corsairs.
Thengel glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. "I didn't crawl in by the window to drag her off into the night. We had a friendly conversation with your mother present."
Morwen felt a pleasant answering flutter as she considered the alternative version of that evening. Could he try crawling in through her window now? She'd make it easy for him and leave the shutters unlatched.
"Then you got her away from her friends and hid out with her in some dirty field all day."
Unfair, Morwen thought. They'd found a meadow and it had been very tidy if you didn't count the bit where the fallen willow had kicked up its roots.
"We've been fast friends for years," Thengel reminded Gaeron. "Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my character?"
"Before now, I would say of course not, or else you wouldn't have been granted so much access to Mora," Gaeron replied with heat. "But this step is…Thengel, you can't blame me for feeling concerned and disgusted."
"I don't blame you for your concern but there will be trouble between us if you continue to accuse me of mischief toward her."
"What else am I supposed to make of this turn? She's seventeen years the younger. A man your age has no right to look her way," Gaeron railed. "And Morwen shouldn't decide on her future yet. She has several more years before she needs to think of marrying anyone — even if you haven't."
Morwen sipped her tea without tasting it as the tension mounted. One comfort presented itself. She had a feeling Sadril and Thengel's cook didn't agree with Gaeron, which meant in the event of a brawl her brother would be outnumbered.
Thengel held up his hand. "That's for Morwen and your parents to decide," he said, ignoring the barb at his age.
"And do you believe that they'll look on you favorably after today? Half the city's probably been and gone from Mother's sitting room by now." He added, "On a market day, no less. The pair of you were likely the talk of every merchant stall and gatehouse in the city."
"That's natural," Thengel said reasonably, "when a king's son asks a woman to marry him."
"Well, you might have tried to make the entire city work a little harder to find out about it."
Gaeron paced around the room, raking his fingers through his hair. He pulled some out by accident and shook off the loose strands. They fell to the dusty floor. Something about that triggered an inspiration. He glared at Thengel.
"What is all this?" he demanded, gesturing at the floor, then the walls. "These changes to the house." He pointed at the door, causing Morwen to flinch as if he had poked her. Some of the tea spilled down her arm so she put the mug down. "You're seriously fixing up the place with the intention that Mora will move in?"
"Do you expect Morwen to live in a home where the plaster might come down on her head at any moment?" Thengel asked.
Morwen glanced up at the ceiling again. She hadn't considered that the house might kill her. The egregious bathtub had been too distracting.
Gaeron waved away Thengel's reasonable explanation like an annoying fly. "You premeditated this and kept it from me. That's what I can't countenance," he grumbled. "Perhaps it's as much my fault as anyone's. I've been too freehanded with her and far too trusting of you. It's a good thing my parents are hauling her off home to Lossarnach tomorrow."
The final straw. Morwen hadn't considered leaving town as a possibility. Surely she couldn't go back to Lossarnach now that she and Thengel finally understood one another — now that she knew what it felt like to be held by him instead of just dreaming about it. They heard her muffled howl from the other side of the door.
Gaeron pressed his lips into a grim line, advancing toward the door. Morwen scrambled to her feet almost slipping on the sheet as the door flew open. It caught on the fabric and the cushion, sweeping them aside. She grabbed for the bucket.
"Morwen, quit listening through the keyhole and —" Splash. "— ugh!"
Morwen lowered the empty bucket, staring at her brother's sodden appearance while he gaped back at her through runnels of water flowing down his face and hair. Behind him, Thengel watched them both in blank surprise.
Gaeron glowered damply while Morwen hugged the bucket to her chest as a sort of buffer. He looked unhappy, but less likely to throw her out of a window.
"Was that necessary?" he scolded through his teeth. He yanked the bucket away before she could find any other use for it. Then he shoved the door open wider without waiting for an answer. "Get in here."
Morwen pressed her lips together and quaked with silent irritation as she passed by her brother. She had to pick her way over the puddle she'd created, which had turned the dust into a kind of pale slime. She shot Thengel an apologetic look for the mess.
The three of them stood in a sort of triangle. Gaeron dripped. Morwen smoothed her riding skirt, which looked more wrinkled than she had previously realized. And Thengel held his tongue. In fact, Morwen thought he might be biting it.
Gaeron licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Now, Mora…"
"Yes, Gaeron?" she said with measured concentration as if daring him to vent his spleen so she could vent hers.
"As you doubtless heard," he said slowly, thumbing the air in Thengel's direction. "In addition to your indiscrete behavior this week, Thengel has confided some troubling…"
Morwen felt her cheeks grow hot. "Troubling?" she intoned.
Gaeron relented a little. "Well, he's told me some news."
"Yes, I expect he has," Morwen snapped. She felt like a lid rattling on a boiling pot, though she did manage to contain herself with only the occasional sizzle. "That's why we're here. To tell you our news."
"And how do you expect me to feel about you…and him?" Gaeron demanded.
Morwen glanced at Thengel. He gave her a weak smile. He'd been deeply hurt and did a poor job of hiding it. She squared her shoulders, determined to put a stop to any further ill-treatment.
"Believe it or not," she began with an imperious tone that her mother used to put family members, servants, and neighbors in their place. "I didn't consider your feelings, Gaeron. They seem secondary to my own in this matter. And now that your show of spleen has ended and you've abused your dear friend as badly as anyone can abuse his friends, you will please keep out of our affairs."
Gaeron stared before saying, "You know I can't do that. As your older brother…"
"As my older brother, you may wish me joy and come with us to ask for Father's blessing."
Now Gaeron's pot threatened to overflow. He turned red from root to crown. "Morwen, what has gotten into you? This whole scenario is out of the question. How could you entertain it?"
"You mean I should marry Thengel without asking for my father's blessing?"
"No!" Gaeron bellowed.
"Then how can it be out of the question?"
"You're twisting my words on purpose." He wiped more water from his forehead. "How would you feel if our positions were reversed?"
"Confused about why I'm picking a fight with my sister and my friend when I should be patching things up with my new wife," she retorted.
"Fine. Just…fine," Gaeron muttered. "Ignore me if you like. We'll go home this instant. Let's learn what Mother has to say. It should be scathing."
Morwen blinked. She hadn't meant for her brother to call her bluff. But her chin tipped upward in a challenge. "If you insist."
"I do insist. Even if it means risking my marriage by missing the supper they insist I attend —"
Morwen planted her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare pin that on me."
"If you hadn't been sneaking around—"
"We didn't sneak. We were quite flagrant, actually. And if you intend to make a stink about it, then I'll move in with Thengel right now."
Thengel raised a hand. "Morwen…"
Brother and sister ignored him.
"You're bluffing," Gaeron called. "Even you wouldn't be so improper. Besides, Thengel hasn't got a scrap of furniture."
Morwen crossed her arms. "I'll sleep in the new tub."
"Enjoy the crick in your neck, then," Gaeron spat.
Morwen glanced at Thengel. "Am I in danger of that?"
He looked like he wanted to reconsider his answer before ever giving it, yet said, "It is sized to fit two. So, probably not."
Gaeron blustered unintelligibly as the full extent of Thengel's interesting hopes for Morwen, as Sadril had called them, finally caused the pot to boil over. Morwen braced herself for the bellowing that promised to follow.
Instead, the city bells tolled the hour. Gaeron looked stricken as he counted them out. Then he glanced down at his soiled clothes, pinching the soaked fabric of his tunic between his fingers.
"I'll be late," he said through gritted teeth. "No thanks to you, Morwen, now I have to change clothes. I can't show up like this."
"You rushed at me and I thought — "
"It doesn't matter. Come home with me now. We'll sort this marriage business out later."
Morwen stood beside Thengel and took his arm. "You go. Thengel needs bolstering after what you've said."
Gaeron stepped toward her. "Morwen, don't be obstinate."
She tried Thengel's approach and waited in blank silence.
Gaeron swiped water from his forehead angrily. He gave them one last unhappy look and then squelched from the room. They heard him stumble, which Morwen supposed might have been caused by his boots catching on the sheet and cushion she'd left piled up just outside the threshold. Then his footsteps echoed as he rushed along the passage. A door slammed.
Gone again.
Morwen's temper deflated in the absence of an enflamed brother. She gazed at Thengel with a wrinkled expression. He looked equally wrinkled.
"Perhaps I overstepped by mentioning the bathtub," Morwen reflected, letting go of his arm. "Gaeron seems sensitive about it."
"He's sensitive about you," Thengel corrected.
Morwen swallowed against the bitter taste in her mouth. "I'm sorry he insulted you."
Thengel grimaced as he peered through the open doorway but said nothing.
"Would it help if I told him that I seduced you and not the other way around?"
Thengel shook his head. "Let's not talk of that, please. Gaeron made those accusations out of anger and they are ugly."
"Did we behave as brazenly as he thinks we did?"
"Does it matter?" Thengel countered. "As you can see, I intend to do the right thing by you."
Morwen slumped onto a bench next to Thengel, collecting dust on her skirt. "Today I felt scandalized, hopeless, and then so happy. Now I feel a little ill," she confided.
"I warned you about the cake."
Morwen made a face at Thengel. Then the color rose in her cheeks again and she jumped up. "He'll tell Mother and Father all about us. We've got to catch up to him."
Thengel hooked her arm before she could dash away. "Let Gaeron be. He needs time to cool off and so do we. Whatever he says to your parents won't change our plans."
"You don't think they'll raise any difficulties?" She collapsed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. "We should run for it rather than find out."
"To Wilderland?" He sounded half tempted.
"Yes. Even to Umbar or horrible Pelargir." Morwen gestured toward the door. "It doesn't matter where."
Thengel's brow rose. "Don't you mean Pelargir or horrible Umbar?"
"No. I hate Pelargir," she said vehemently into his tunic. "We didn't eat all the picnic things, so we could be ready in a moment."
Thengel sighed and gently squeezed her to himself. "You ate all the cakes."
"Sadril's bringing me more."
"She…?" He shook his head. "Regardless. Running won't help," he said, though she thought he secretly agreed with her.
Morwen guessed that being referred to as some sort of libertine by his close friend and future brother certainly benchmarked a new low for one lifetime. That said something for a man exiled by his own father.
Never mind that she'd been reduced to a bed warmer like one of Húnil's kittens. "Am I really going to be useless to you?" she asked, glancing up.
Thengel squared his jaw. "You heard that too?"
She nodded.
"Put it from your mind, please. It isn't true."
She tucked her head under his chin. "Gaeron believes it is. I had no idea he thought so little of me."
"Sometimes our own families struggle to truly see us," he answered softly. "Where we're going, we'll need your brightness, your irreverence, and your pragmatism."
"Even the hair-raising parts?"
Thengel half laughed. "Even those, dear heart. Don't give Gaeron's opinion any credit. He feels threatened because he didn't notice what was growing right under his nose. When his pride settles, he'll come around."
A horrible thought struck her. "Suppose Gaeron bars all the windows and locks the doors once I'm home? I could be shut up there forever if he's mad enough."
She felt Thengel grin against her ear, perhaps imagining the consequences of that for Gaeron. "You'd think of something."
"You mean you wouldn't rescue me?"
Thengel gently tipped her chin up with his fingers. "Do you need me to? That would only steal your thunder as a consummate strategist." She felt silent laughter rumble in his chest.
Morwen glanced at him with a wry expression. "You must admit that after only a few odd turns, my strategies placed everyone more or less where they wished to be."
"I'll allow it, yes."
"You're welcome, by the way," she said as he laughed. "Now kiss me before Gaeron sends the City Watch to stop us."
Thengel smiled self-consciously before chastely brushing her lips with his. Morwen reached a hand behind his head, seizing his mouth in a way that would certainly cause Gaeron to feel justified for his recent fit of missishness.
She released him long enough to ask a question that had been rolling around in the back of her mind. "Why a bathtub exactly?"
Thengel shrugged. "Too much time daydreaming of you while living on the river, I expect. Water reminds me of you now."
"The corsairs have a lot to answer for," she complained though she laughed.
That interesting gleam returned to Thengel's eyes as he kissed her again. The hesitation evaporated. She felt herself melting against him as his hands smoothed down her ribs to her waist to her lower back, though she had just enough of her wits about her to feel the cool roundness of stoneware as Sadril pressed a plate of cakes into her hand. At any moment she would push away from Thengel so she could eat those cakes. She could hold the plate perfectly straight until then.
They stayed locked in an embrace until they heard the soft thud of little baked goods hitting the floor.