A Consolation of Princes
Chapter 13: A Murmuration of Mothers

When Thengel and Morwen arrived at her parents' home, they found Gwereneth in her sitting room with Aranel and her mother, Lady Arthiel. Morwen stopped short at the sight and stared in the doorway, causing Thengel to nearly walk into her. He grabbed her waist at the last moment and gently steered her into the room.

It was late in the day for visitors and Gwereneth had never once been graced by the wife of the Keeper of the Keys. The woman's eyes became bright when they entered the room. No doubt Arthiel noticed the placement of Thengel's hands. Morwen wondered if their guests had also been given a front-row seat to Gaeron's arrival…and therefore how much of Morwen's business they were already privy to beyond the jaunt down to the Pelennor.

Also surprising, Gwereneth had seated her visitors on chairs placed among bolts of fabric mostly in drab earth tones. The fabric hadn't been there when Morwen had left that morning. She noticed her mother's open ledger on a nearby table. She conjectured that Aranel and her mother had interrupted Gwereneth in the middle of cataloging it all.

"There you are, Morwen. Lord Thengel, good afternoon. Sit down, both of you," Gwereneth ordered, waving an imperious finger at what remained of the open seating.

Morwen glanced at Aranel as she moved to obey. The poor girl looked like she'd been caught stealing apples from someone's orchard. Or worse — as if she'd been caught trying to hide behind a curtain and then forced to sit out in the open where everyone could see her. Horrors.

If their paths had crossed more since Morwen's presentation, then she might have taken Aranel under her wing. As it was, she felt pushing Aranel to perform the introduction between Tathren and Gaeron last year had been some help toward overcoming Aranel's shyness.

Lady Arthiel tapped her daughter's arm. "Come along, Aranel. We've overstayed our welcome." Both women rose. Lady Arthiel extended her hand to Gwereneth. "Thank you for being such a gracious host and allowing us to interrupt your, eh, little project." Her gaze cast a wide net over the ugly fabric. "It would please me if you and your daughter would return the visit when next you stay in Minas Tirith." She smirked a little. "We're only a few doors down from Lord Thengel."

Gwereneth rose likewise and pressed Lady Arthiel's fingers. "Good afternoon," she said, offering no promises.

"Morwen. Lord Thengel. A pleasure, as always." Lady Arthiel bobbed.

Thengel bowed over Lady Arthiel's hand while Aranel looked like she wanted to slip out of the room before he'd notice her and extend the same courtesy.

Morwen came to her rescue by seizing her elbow. "I'll walk them out, Mother," she offered.

After Morwen marched the poor girl into the foyer, she added, "I'm sorry I missed your visit, Aranel. But at least you got to see Gaeron. I always tell everyone how you helped him to meet Tathren."

Aranel gave her a puzzled look. "Is he here?" she asked. "We didn't have the…um…pleasure…"

Morwen grinned at Aranel as her relief mounted. So they hadn't been subjected to his lunatic ranting. "I'm sorry we never got to talk at the reception the other night."

"It's all right," Aranel stammered.

"Aranel said you seemed preoccupied with Lord Thengel at the time," Lady Arthiel added with a feline grin that put Nahtar to shame. "What a nice, long acquaintance he's had with your family."

Aranel blushed, and frankly, so did Morwen as all her theories about shy women and discretion flew out the window. Information could be wheedled out of them by the Determined, seemingly. It didn't occur to her to lump herself in that category.

"The sort of acquaintance that only grows and changes with time," Lady Arthiel mused.

"It may," Morwen replied. "But as we say in Lossarnach, a watched pear never ripens."

This one certainly wouldn't while there were busybodies in the way. She stopped just short of pushing her mother's guests out the door.

…

When Morwen came back, she found her mother quietly at work with her ledger on her lap. Gwereneth had recruited Thengel to hold up bolts for her inspection. Morwen gestured silently toward a muddy peach cotton currently in his grasp, looking a question rather than asking it. He shrugged unhelpfully.

"So you both decided to put in an appearance finally," Gwereneth droned when she looked up from her writing.

"What's all this?" Morwen asked, ignoring her mother's passing shot of vinegar.

"The apology from the clothmonger for getting our order wrong." Then her mother made a face. "Never mind what it's going to cost me to ship it all home. Really, there is such a thing as too much of an apology." Then Gwereneth pinned both of them with humorless eyes. "Speaking of which, I'm prepared to hear yours."

Morwen took one look at her mother, swallowed, and said, "News travels fast."

"Certainly faster than the pair of you," Gwereneth retorted.

Morwen began pleating her skirt. "You've heard from Gaeron, then?"

"Gaeron barely arrived home before you did and had the sense to avoid this room. No. Half the mothers on this circle told me everything I needed to know about the pair of you riding off together late this morning — then riding back late this afternoon after disappearing into the fields." Gwereneth pursed her lips. "And as you can see, I've received a house call from the Keeper's of the Keys own good woman who suddenly felt it would be prudent to visit me after all these years. Imagine that."

Morwen swallowed again. "Thengel wants to speak to Father."

Gwereneth settled in her chair and then folded her hands over the pages of her book. "I know that, too." She pinned Thengel with her eagle eyes. "Amarthor's waiting in the library. Off you go."

Thengel set the bolt down. But when Morwen turned to go with him, Gwereneth held up a finger.

"No. You stay with me. I won't have you outnumbering your father."

"But…"

Gwereneth's eyes widened to a dangerous degree. Morwen subsided. There was no use trying to get past that expression.

Thengel gave her hand a parting squeeze, and then he disappeared — possibly to never be seen again if her father had landed on a particularly dry piece of arcana.

Alone with her mother, Morwen didn't know what to do with herself. She'd assumed that Thengel and she would tackle her parents together. She watched her mother go back to writing in her ledger as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place.

"So…" Morwen scratched her nose. "Lady Arthiel and Aranel?"

Gwereneth sniffed. "You'd think Lord Belehir's good woman had a premonition that we're to have a significant addition to the family. If we were lingering in Minas Tirith any longer, I'd prepare for Lord Ecthelion's wife next."

"You might want to change into your best dress just in case," Morwen conceded.

Gwereneth exhaled slowly, surveying the additional fabric and her daughter in one sweeping glance, perhaps deciding which would cause her the most work in the immediate future.

"This is very sudden, Morwen," she said finally.

Morwen sat in her father's chair. "Hardly. I've known Thengel most of my life."

Gwereneth said nothing, going back to cataloging the new fabric.

Morwen stared at her mother.

"Aren't you going to lecture me?" she asked as Gwereneth set another bolt of fabric aside. She began to feel that the anticipation had caused her nerves to frizzle and disintegrate.

Gwereneth glanced up with a sardonic expression. "Lecture the future queen of the Mark? I'm not a fool. Hand me that awful yellow-gray fabric next to you. The one that can only be described as a plague victim's complexion."

Morwen reached for whatever bolt happened to be nearest to her without noticing the color. Somehow, her future position and the consequence it would give her didn't seem like it would apply to her mother. If she was going to be a queen, it felt like her mother would simply be elevated to empress by default. It was an unlooked-for boon.

"Gaeron says I'm not allowed to marry Thengel."

"Gaeron is a fool."

Morwen looked over her shoulder as if he might drop down from the ceiling behind her. "Where is he?"

"After he blustered all over the house, I sent him to attend to his own affairs and to keep out of yours."

Morwen stared. "You did?"

That statement more or less mirrored her mother's words to Morwen regarding Gaeron's marriage the night he came home from his wedding tour. She began to better understand the phrase about fish out of water. She felt very much as if she had landed in some foreign place where the customs were not obvious or understandable. In the span of a week, their family circle had been turned on its head.

Gwereneth scribbled some more. "I did. He'd only get in Thengel's way."

"Lord Thengel," Morwen corrected before self-preservation could prevent her.

Gwereneth pursed her lips. "If he's to be my son-in-law, then I think I may finally drop the formality when no guests are present. Give me the fabric that can only be described as bile."

Morwen thought that could be any number of the bolts but she chose the greenest one. "Then you don't mind?"

"Am I surprised? Utterly. To the core." Gwereneth touched her forehead. "Do I mind? After eight hours of reflection and being put on the spot with our neighbors, no."

"Why not?"

Gwereneth gave Morwen an exasperated frown. "Because honestly, Mora, there have been days when I feared you'd do much worse than marry a future king." She pressed her fist to her heart. "I have had moments of actual terror that you would run off with a tinker."

Morwen tried and failed to remember any direct interactions she'd had with such a person. "Why a tinker?"

"Because you could — and that's always been reason enough for you."

Morwen felt compelled to agree with her mother. Fortunately, she had only had eyes for Thengel for some years. "But you aren't bothered that Thengel's so much older than I am?"

Gwereneth pursed her lips. "You're grown now. If Thengel's age doesn't bother you then I fail to see how it's any business of mine."

"What about leaving Gondor one day? The whole family might not be together for years at a time."

Gwereneth hesitated a moment, but said, "I can't speak to King Fengel's health, but there may be some time before that happens. If you think you can countenance leaving Gondor, then your father and I won't stand in your way."

"Really?"

"Morwen, children are meant to leave their parents' house. Whether that's to live over in the next village or in Rohan is your decision provided you've chosen a person of good character. I have nothing to say against Thengel." Perhaps because she couldn't help herself, she mumbled, "I only hope he knows what he's getting into."

Morwen pinched her arm. It hurt. Still, even if she wasn't dreaming, she had a hard time wrapping her mind around this new, acquiescent version of her mother who suddenly approved of her choices. Still, at least one family member openly disapproved enough to leave a tarnish on things.

"Gaeron said…"

Gwereneth set down her pen with a snap. "If Gaeron had half a brain he'd realize that this union will give him a much-needed boost. In my opinion, Renneth and her husband are dragging out this whole unfortunate affair with Tathren," Gwereneth ranted. "I doubt they'll feel so high-handed when they discover that Gaeron will have a king's heir for a brother-in-law."

Morwen hadn't thought of it that way. It seemed a touch mercenary. "Do you really believe that Tathren's parents are making it harder for them to reconcile?"

Gwereneth pointed at another bolt with her pen and Morwen got up to fetch it for her. "By Gaeron's account, she's ready to make peace but they keep setting hurdles before him."

Morwen sat down again on her sofa, far away from the fabric. She hoped it would act as a deterrent to more fetching. "But why? What's the advantage to anyone?"

Gwereneth scribbled some notes onto her ledger. "Pure high-handedness, that's what."

"Then why hasn't Gaeron stormed the so-called castle already and brought her home?" That seemed to Morwen to be more his style.

"Because she's spooked him," Gwereneth pronounced darkly, glancing up from the ledger. "Hand me the bolt next to the credenza."

"What? No." Morwen gasped at the notion of anything spooking her older brother. Gaeron wasn't afraid of anything, not even dark cellars.

Morwen dragged herself from the sofa to retrieve the bolt that held ugly rust-colored cotton. She handed it to her mother and watched as Gwereneth cataloged it in her ledger.

"Mark my words. He's come to the uncomfortable realization that he can't treat his wife in the same brusque manner that he treats his friends. Thengel might have been endeared to him after being thrown out a window but such behavior won't work on Tathren."

"I would have thought that'd be obvious," Morwen murmured. Based on the afternoon, she didn't believe Thengel had much enjoyed that behavior either. Contrary to the legend, they might have become friends despite it.

"To a sensible person, it is." Gwereneth gave her a sharp look. "Your brother's too frightened to upset the waters again. I suppose Tathren wanted him to learn that lesson and now he has. Much good it did her." Gwereneth harrumphed. "A wedding tour spoiled with no hope of getting their money back. Gossip circulating the city. The two of them behave like children when it comes to settling their differences."

"Huh." Morwen would have to relate that back to Gaeron after he called her a child. How the tables had turned in one day. She wondered just how much they had turned.

"Mother, if I'm going to be a princess, does that mean I have to help with packing?"

Gwereneth shot her a vinegar look. "You aren't one yet." She sniffed. "But when you do become one, it's going to be all chores and making sure other people are doing their chores. It's sketching you won't have time for." Her mother's lips curled in a worrisomely feline way. "How many servants does Thengel keep in that great big townhouse of his? Two?"

Morwen sank down onto her sofa, feeling bleak. "Three."

"Heh." Gwereneth smirked. She finished writing the last of the bolts' information into her ledger before shutting the book with a satisfying snap. "I'm going upstairs to dress for supper. You'd be wise to do the same. Your clothes smell of horse." Gwereneth's nostrils flared in emphasis. "It's fitting for the occasion but unpleasant."

Morwen had slumped against the back of the couch. "I don't want to miss Thengel when he comes down."

"Suit yourself. I doubt the smell bothers him," Gwereneth muttered before leaving the room. "I may pop my head into the library to make sure your father hasn't gotten off topic." Morwen could tell by the look on her face that the dinner conversation from a few days ago was also on her mind. "The Kin-strife is no way to begin an engagement."

"No one told Gaeron," Morwen mumbled to herself as her mother swept out of the room.

…

Morwen had been staring dejectedly into the empty fireplace long enough for her eyes to dry out when Thengel found her later. He dragged one of the chairs nearer to her sofa.

"What's the matter?" he asked, touching her knee. Concern showed in the lines of his face.

Morwen pushed herself upright, having slumped down in an undignified way. "Mother says I won't have time to sketch once we're married."

Thengel glanced away for a moment, looking confused. "Why not?"

Morwen tucked her hair behind her ears and sighed. "Because you don't have any servants."

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "That's easily mended. You've been threatening it for two days." When she didn't respond, he tapped her boot with his. "Don't you want to find out first if we're allowed to be married before you create a bleak future for us?"

Morwen snapped out of her malaise. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "What did Father say? Tell me everything."

"Well." Thengel fell silent for an agonizing period of time. Then he looked at his hands and said, "Firstly, Amarthor expressed surprise that he and I had a very long correspondence dating back several years."

Morwen stared. "You didn't tell him! Thengel, you know very well those letters came from me."

He leaned back with a grin, resting his hands comfortably on his stomach. "The scribbling in the margins did give it away."

"Scribbling? How dare you. It's called illumination." She gave him a wry look. "And thanks to Sadril and Gaeron, I happen to know that you think highly of my artwork — so you needn't pretend otherwise."

Thengel grinned self-consciously. "The secret's out."

"Yes. And I hope you'll let me curate the gallery when the house is finished."

Thengel cringed. "Sadril told you everything?"

"Yes." Morwen gave him a pirate's smile. "Do you know, I think she might be your real matchmaker?"

Thengel blinked. "Why do you say that?"

"Do you often drink raspberry leaf tea?"

"I can't say I've ever had the stuff."

"That confirms it." Then Morwen sighed while Thengel looked puzzled. "Of course, that depends on what Father said. You'd better tell me and get it over with."

"I should tell you that he showed great interest in the information I gave him regarding the consumption of beaver." Thengel paused to allow that to sink in. Then he said, "You see, I spent some time in the Archives the morning after we dined together and there's no way either the meat or the fat could have been served at the feast hosted by Eldacar."

Morwen stared at Thengel, wondering when he had become possessed.

He smiled pleasantly. "Allegedly, in Rhovanion under the reign of Ulfilas there was a ban on fish consumption at the new moon in order to bolster the sale of head cheese. The ban wasn't rescinded until the reign of Audavicar…"

Morwen broke out into a cold sweat during his recitation. "Stars! You didn't tell Father that! Are you trying to send him catatonic?"

Thengel bowed his head. "You're right. I didn't tell him that either. But I thought about it just in case he decided to become highhanded."

"Did he become highhanded?"

Thengel fell silent again. He looked gravely at his boots. Morwen felt anxiety like a hard pit in her stomach. His expression did not look promising. She began to squirm as his silence drew out. She'd worried about her mother but it never occurred to her that her father would refuse a future king anything.

"Thengel, I am going to die of suspense."

"Forgive me." He rubbed his forehead. "I am trying to put into words what I'm feeling right now. You see, I didn't truly expect to have to tell you this."

Morwen felt her heart plummet to her ankles. She snatched a decorative pillow that she'd embroidered years ago and covered her face with it. If it was bad news then she didn't want Thengel to see her fall to pieces. She'd rather he saw her clumsy needlework. Then she lowered it so that just her eyes were showing because she wanted to see his face when he told her.

"Tell me what?" she mumbled into the fabric.

Thengel rubbed his jaw. "I don't know how you did it but you succeeded in finding me a bride by the end of the week."

Morwen made a hoarse noise in her throat.

He smiled slowly. "And you somehow got me to arrange a marriage negotiation months before I intended to initiate one."

"Thengel!" she cried, throwing the pillow at him.

He batted it away before it could hit him but that left him vulnerable to a frontal assault as she fell into his arms.

"Horrible man," she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck as he pulled her onto his lap. "You really had me scared for a moment."

Thengel tweaked her hair. "Now you know how I feel whenever your evil genius takes over," he teased. "My congratulations. I admit I wrongfully doubted you could pull it off."

"I never doubted myself for a moment," she announced with her nose in the air.

Thengel snorted at the blatant falsehood but deigned not to remind her that only yesterday she had proclaimed herself to be cursed and humbled by circumstance.

Then Morwen frowned. "Just what do you mean that I forced you to arrange a marriage negotiation months before you planned to?"

"I meant to wait until the house was finished to ask you to marry me. I counted on your family returning to Minas Tirith in the autumn as is your custom. So when you informed me at the reception that you wouldn't be back for an entire year, I had to hasten the timeline. You see, my patience has its limits."

Morwen scoffed. "I find that hard to believe from the man who waited a year and a day to broach the subject of a courtship," she retorted.

"Impatience should be tempered by preparation," Thengel replied gravely.

"Another Rohirric proverb?"

"I made it up," he admitted. "You see, I went through a good deal of trouble to get you alone today. And do you know how hard it is to find good oranges this time of year?"

She wrinkled her nose. "But how did you know you'd be able to ask me today? You didn't know we'd be alone until I arrived at the stables."

"A wise man takes what fate offers him."

"And doesn't give fate any credit — or me, for that matter." Morwen gripped his face. "You had no idea Húnil wouldn't come with us. I call that piggybacking off of my efforts."

Thengel grasped her hands and lowered them. "Who's to say I didn't have a similar plan to yours? With my years of field experience, it wouldn't have taken long to lose Húnil," he told her with a smugness that was unusual for him. "I was half-prepared to throw you over Baranroch and gallop off, if necessary."

"I'm glad it wasn't necessary." Morwen shuddered at the thought. "And I'm glad you shook off complacency. Autumn is months away. What an irritatingly long wait that would have been." She exhaled. "So Father didn't send you packing?"

"No." Thengel winked at her. "It turns out he's impressed with my future crown."

"He didn't put up a fight at all?" Morwen shook her head. She almost wondered if her family were glad to get rid of her.

"We're talking of your father, not Gaeron," Thengel reminded her. "He said everything needed to get me out of his library so that he could go back to his studies."

Morwen nodded. "Mother has accepted it too."

"Yes, I know. She put in a brief appearance to order your father to give his blessing at once and get it over with before supper's served. For a couple who don't enjoy surprises, they can be remarkably hasty about getting to the point."

Morwen laughed at that observation. "Mother's afraid I'd run off with a tinker," she enlightened him. "So she had motivation."

Then Thengel laughed. "That should be a weight off her mind then as you all travel home tomorrow."

"But I can't leave tomorrow." Morwen almost howled again, wondering what it would take to stay in the city. "We're getting married."

"Not tomorrow," he pointed out. "Anyway, technically, I've only asked your father if I can ask him to marry you."

Morwen blinked. "Excuse me?"

"As I explained to Amarthor, a man doesn't go empty-handed to ask another man for his daughter's hand in marriage," Thengel explained. "Our poets say, 'One treasure deserves another; gold should be given away.'"

Morwen folded her arms. "Don't they also say, 'Woe it is for the one who must wait in longing for the beloved'?"

Thengel smiled. "They do. But we've waited this long. Why not a little longer? We've had our one indiscretion —"

"Three indiscretions if you count the reception and Gaeron leaving me at your house."

Thengel cleared his throat. "Fine. But I insist on everything else being done properly…which means I'll need time to gather all the essential elements of a Rohirric marriage negotiation. Then the engagement will be official."

"What's there to negotiate? Which shed Father will let us live in? I thought we settled that during the picnic."

He said dryly, "There's the question of how wealthy you'll be when I'm dead, for one thing."

Morwen blanched as if he'd dropped her into a frigid mountain spring.

"And the wedding date," he continued. "Your parents insisted on the Gondorian tradition."

"Oh." That was usually a complicated affair that involved natal charts and transits. Then she asked, "When is this negotiation to take place?"

Thengel made his arithmetic face. "Four weeks at best but six is more likely."

Morwen went pale. "Six weeks!"

"Mon sceal... gebidan þæs he gebædan ne mæg."

"I won't pretend I understood any of that."

"One must wait for what cannot be hastened," he recited. "It could take almost a week just for my letter to arrive in Edoras, depending on the roads…and you can depend on the mud in the Fenmarch. They'll have to find someone to read and translate the letter once they receive it."

"I thought your family knew the Common Tongue."

"Passably," he answered. "But only my faþu can read it well enough to translate and she lives up in Dunharrow."

"They won't trust the courier to read it?"

Thengel snorted. "Fengel will barely trust Folcswitha."

"His own sister?"

"Folscwitha has three sons and Fengel has only one. He always feared she was waiting in the wings in case anything happened to either of us." Thengel scoffed. "It's the reason he gives for not riding out as First Marshal."

"He's afraid she'd try to usurp the throne from both of you for her own sons?"

"To be fair," Thengel added with a voice so dry it made her think of chipped paint, "He's also afraid that I'll usurp the throne instead of waiting for him to have the decency to die."

"Thengel!"

"My aunt is in good company, you might say," he finished wryly…and unrepentantly. "Once they can get Folcswitha to Edoras — by horse or by wheelbarrow — then it'll take some time for the king's household to assemble all the necessary people and things, which will be scattered. If Fengel allows every point of my letter to be carried out, then it may take as much as a fortnight for the whole party to arrive in Minas Tirith."

"Will he carry out every point of your letter, do you think?"

Thengel looked down for a moment and drew a circle on her arm. "Let me rephrase…if my sisters can carry out every point of my letter under my father's nose…"

Mud and wheelbarrows and sneaking sisters. Morwen began to suspect that this would take the rest of their lives to accomplish a real, traditional Rohirric marriage negotiation from a long distance. They'd see the White Tree restored first.

"Haste is best,'" she countered. "Wouldn't it be faster to light the beacons?"

Thengel's mouth slanted at the thought. "I don't believe that's their intended use, my own one." Then he said, "In better news, your father agreed to as short a betrothal as the heavens will allow…once I've proved to him that I'm not a pauper and you won't be one either."

"What's to prove? You were born in the Golden Hall."

"All that glitters is not gold. Amarthor wants more than thatch for the handgeld."

Amarthor and Gwereneth had plenty of gold of their own. And thatch could be useful. But Morwen knew her father wouldn't budge on that point. She wouldn't mind so much but for one thing. "They said I still have to leave tomorrow?"

Thengel nodded. "Yes. Your parents thought it prudent after our shameless behavior this week."

Morwen exhaled sharply, "I told you there'd be a scandal."

He grinned. "Only a little one. It pales next to Valacar's marital rebellion."

Thank the stars for that. "What will you do when I'm gone?"

"Enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet after what you've put me through."

Morwen looked askance. "What have I put you through?"

Thengel's expression turned vague. "Oh, a certain tedious meal comes to mind," he drawled. "Then there's your outlandish flirtation with Serion at the reception just to annoy me. And to crown it all, two days forcing me to pretend that I gave a warg's right eye about Húnil's murderous pets."

Morwen couldn't deny a certain culpability in all that he described, so she simply said, "Well, I personally believe all that peace and quiet will bore you to distraction."

"We'll agree to disagree, love," he said, massaging his forehead. "Don't forget I'm still creating a home for you. And then there's the small matter of my duty to the Steward. Boredom might be a luxury."

Morwen's heart sank again. "Pelargir?"

"No. Ithilien." Thengel looked to the east. "Bard's ministers reported some goblin nests along their route south. I'll be spending more time than ever with Ecthelion until he's satisfied that the northern uplands are clear. My time will not be entirely my own before the wedding."

"Why do you have to go to clear out Ithilien?"

"My sword still belongs in service to the Steward, Morwen," he reminded her. "And because whatever we can accomplish to that end will relieve the burden on Rohan's borders if the foul creatures get it into their heads to cross the river." He gritted his teeth. "Orcs have ever been a plague on my sires' line."

"More than the Dunlendings?" she asked.

"Oh yes. The Dunlendings haven't caused us serious alarm since Brytta's day. Not with Isengard occupied by a wizard. But orcs? Many times our people have been kept from utter ruin by only a thread as events in the north have pushed the foul niht-genga south." Thengel said bitterly, "Every time the Dwarves' axes grow restless, the Rohirrim answer for it." He stroked her arm. "You can see why this feels a little more personal than my other appointments."

Morwen nodded. "Yes, I do see." Then she said, "Maybe I can come with you? I could stay in one of those secret caves Gaeron told me about."

"Don't dream of it." He added, "Gaeron shouldn't have mentioned the bases. Even I am not permitted to enter them without a blindfold."

Morwen frowned. "You've told me stories about the shieldmaidens of Rohan. I still have that enormous pin from the wedding."

"I don't doubt your courage but let's be honest, Morwen. You should have started training years ago. Instead, you've grown into a well-bred — if somewhat impulsive — genteel, young lady who prefers to wield the pencil."

Morwen wrinkled her nose and pushed away from him. "I don't have to sit here and listen to myself be insulted."

Thengel rolled his eyes as he hooked her elbow. "Hold still. Only you would find that insulting."

She gave him a dour look, the kind she used to give him years ago as a gap-toothed waif whenever she measured him up and found him wanting — such as the times when he refused to use his royal status to help her pilfer from the kitchen.

Thengel's mouth slanted. "If we quarrel, Gaeron might get his own way in the end."

Morwen deflated under that light. "No, he mustn't get his way. It wouldn't be good for him," she replied. Then she asked, "He's still not home, is he?"

"I haven't seen him," Thengel answered. "My guess is that he's with Tathren after all."

"Then will you stay for supper?"

"Perhaps." Thengel shifted uncomfortably. "But if he comes home early, I'm not sure I'm prepared to see him again just yet."

Morwen didn't blame Thengel a bit, but she wasn't ready for him to leave either if they wouldn't see one another for weeks. "Don't think about what Gaeron said earlier."

Thengel smiled wanly. "I'll try not to."

"Just think about how much I love you instead," she said as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

"That is a good gift." He held her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "And you have my love, always."

Morwen sighed contentedly. "And aren't you grateful that the most difficult hurdle is behind us? After Gaeron and my parents, everything should be downhill from here."

Doubt flashed in his eyes. "Don't tempt the Powers, Morwen. Remember that I still have to inform Fengel's council."

It seemed to Morwen to present a small obstacle. Everything favored her candidacy. Her connections to one of the most powerful families in the country. Her immediate family's own position in society. Amarthor's deep pockets and vast estate. Gaeron's rank in Gondor's armies. And no one could complain about her being too old. Not a single material objection could be raised on Thengel's side of the family. They only had to wait for Thengel's request to be answered.

Morwen waved away Thengel's concern. "I expect Fengel's council will only complain that you've dragged your feet in choosing a bride."

Thengel winced. "Yes. But it doesn't follow that they'll be cheerful now that I have."

"Why not?"

"Because Fengel won't be cheerful. He never is where it concerns me," Thengel explained. "For one thing, he'll be unhappily reminded that I'm alive somewhere over the mountains. And when he's unhappy, everyone's unhappy. In fact, they're also unhappy when he is happy…usually because he's happy at the expense of others."

Morwen felt the beginning of a headache. "Never mind Fengel. Let's focus on something more pleasant. For example, you wouldn't perchance consider crawling in through my window tonight?"

Thengel choked on a laugh. "The keyholes in my house left nothing to the imagination, did they?"

Morwen shook her head. "I'm intrigued by your idea for an abduction. Very modern. Then I won't have to go off to Lossarnach after all."

Thengel grinned slowly. "Carrying you all the way up to my attic isn't how I intended to prove my youth, Morwen."

She laughed. "Maybe I'll carry you?"

"You'd be better served by getting a good night's rest before your journey," he said, gently looping a strand of her hair around his finger. "And I'll be better served by hastening the completion of the house so that neither of us breaks a neck climbing so many flights of stairs."

Later after Thengel left for the night, Morwen ferreted out her father's almanac. It provided one consolation by prophesying a dry summer. Such weather wouldn't please her father, his foreman, or his tenants. But it promised sound roads and swift travel. Thengel would be with her in Lossarnach sooner rather than later with felicitations from the Mark.

AN: Set your Author alerts and bookmarks. Thanks to an unexpected demand by Gwereneth at the marriage negotiation in later chapters, Morwen and Thengel's story got a little longer than originally planned. Since this arc feels complete, I've decided to split the story. It will continue in A Consolation of Princes Part II: A Revolt of Kings. Thank you so much for reading!

Thengel's Anglo-Saxon proverb was taken from Maxims I. And Morwen's quotes come from The Wife's Lament and Andreas.

Faþu: paternal aunt

Niht-genga, m.n: a creature that goes at night, a goblin, evil spirit. (NI'HT-GENG-ga / ˈnɪxt-ˌgɛŋ-ga)

Restless Dwarf Axes: Thengel's referring to the War of the Dwarves and Orcs that pushed a large number of the creatures out of the Misty Mountains and forced them to try to flee through Rohan to the White Mountains in search of new maggot holes. This was the long prelude to the quest to retake Erebor and the Battle of Five Armies in The Hobbit, which took place late in 2941 — a year and a half before A Consolation of Princes is set. After the Dunlendings were defeated, orcs were Rohan's greatest national threat. Though Tolkien never said so, the history here might suggest a longer-standing reason beyond pride for Éomer acting especially testy with Gimli when they first met.