A Consolation of Princes
Chapter 6: An Endeavor of Dancers, Part 2

How dare the man, Morwen privately fumed. Serion had no right to gleam away at a woman who had already been spoken for…by proxy.

Which reminded her…

"But where is Thengel?" she stammered.

Húnil blinked away from Serion's face briefly. "Oh, he went to get drinks while I looked for you."

"Perhaps we should rejoin him," Morwen hinted, touching Húnil's arm. "And you can tell us more about your cats."

"You go find him, dear. I'm not thirsty."

Morwen opened her mouth to reply but shut it again. Had Húnil just sniffed at the opportunity to talk about her beloved pets? Her words certainly belied the parched look in her eyes. Morwen felt she could hardly leave her friend unguarded in this interesting state and regretted not bringing the huge pin from Gaeron's wedding now that she had an actual use for it.

"Oh, but Lord Serion and I were just discussing arrangements," she warned, more rash than wise. His interest couldn't possibly switch between women so quickly.

"Never mind, Lady Morwen," he said, still gazing into Húnil's eyes. "Flowers give me hay fever."

Morwen frowned at that, wondering if she should take it personally. Glancing down, she noted that he had not relinquished her friend's hand. But what could Morwen do to separate them short of mild assault? Nothing whatsoever.

"On the other hand," he crooned. "I do know my way around a cat."

Húnil chuckled and began to look curiously rosy. "So few gentlemen do, you know."

"It's easy to get lost without dedicated practice, I've found."

Morwen stared between Serion and Húnil. Navigable cats? What nonsense. Morwen felt she had heard enough for one evening. Besides they seemed no longer to register her presence. Thus dismissed, she turned on her heels in retreat, feeling two days' worth of effort going to seed.

She steeled herself against the panic rising within her as it would not help to stop the collision of two stars. Instead, Morwen considered how she could use this new obstacle to light a fire under Thengel. A big fire. The biggest. He behaved with far too much complacency toward women…Húnil particularly. So, all the blame rested solely on him. If he had cooed over Húnil's cat yesterday none of this would be happening.

Morwen hadn't gotten far before a dark chuckle erupted somewhere behind her, causing her to flinch. No one could mistake the source. She decided she needed a drink — and to find Thengel so he could put a stop to this new development before it became irreversible.

While chasing after servers, she found herself before Thengel who had better success than she.

"You look like you need this," he observed. He handed her one of the glasses of wine he held without her needing to ask. The glass felt soothingly cool in her hand.

"Thank you." Morwen held the glass under her nose, enjoying the bouquet before taking a sip. "What are you doing wandering the hall all alone?" she asked with an accusing tone she usually reserved for Gaeron.

A hint of ire threaded his voice when he answered. "I could ask you the same thing."

She lifted her chin. "I asked first."

Thengel turned the wine glass between his fingers. The ruby liquid swirled. "The suitable lady you found for me decided that two dances with one partner sufficed for the evening," he explained. "She's now loose upon the hall at her insistence."

Morwen nearly dumped the contents of her glass on him. "How could you let that happen?"

Thengel frowned down at her. "Short of tying our ankles together like a three-legged race I couldn't force her to stay by my side all night."

"Did you try? Tying your ankles together, I mean," she amended. "That would have been clever."

"Morwen," he said reproachfully. Then he asked, "But why are you alone instead of enjoying that outrageous flirtation as you threatened earlier?"

"I had it already," she admitted. "I've been dancing and talking with Lord Serion over there, the fellow who has arranged himself next to the only nude statuary in the place."

Thengel glowered at said statue. "Just what were you and Serion discussing?"

"Oh, I gave him instructions for seducing me." Morwen glanced into her wine. "While it bolstered my confidence I can't say it's enjoyable having to spell out every step. One hopes for a little more initiative in a partner otherwise it begins to feel one-sided." She squinted at Thengel. "Don't you agree?"

Thengel rubbed his forehead.

She touched his shoulder. "Do you have a headache?"

"Something like that," Thengel admitted, glancing at her hand as she withdrew it. Then he asked, "Was Serion a good student? You were flirting with him for some time."

"Yes, I'd say so." Morwen sipped her wine, reflecting, "He's biddable, which one can appreciate. Although I would not have flirted with him if I'd known he had dark designs."

"You were flirting with him," Thengel scoffed. "Of course, he had dark designs."

"I flirt with everybody," Morwen stated in her defense. "There's no need to propose Certain Arrangements and not the floral kind."

"Not the fl…" Thengel glanced away for a moment. "You might see how it would confuse a man."

"He's not confused about cats," she said tartly. "He's quite the adept."

Now Thengel looked confused.

Morwen raised an eyebrow. "He said he knew his way around them."

Thengel's expression turned from confusion to something thunderous. "Serion said that to you?" he asked sharply.

"Not exactly." Morwen waved a hand dismissively, feeling like Thengel was overreacting to a silly comment about creatures he didn't seem to like. "He had turned his sights to new horizons. I was a bystander."

"All the better for your floral arrangements," Thengel muttered before drinking his wine.

"Ha ha."

Thengel lowered the glass and inspected her closer. "I know you tend to wear levity like a cloak on most days, but it seems to have slipped a little. Something he's said or done has gotten under your skin. What was it?"

She thought Serion had gotten under Thengel's skin too for some reason but didn't press it.

"How astute of you," Morwen replied icily. "I've been cast off in favor of another woman and it…bothers me."

Thengel grew silent for a moment before he finished the last of the wine in his glass. Then he said, "Morwen, I hope I don't need to tell you that the temporary regard of a man like Serion should be held in very low esteem."

"Oh, I don't care about that," she replied. "I don't need him to esteem me in any way except to keep him from seducing anyone else."

Thengel squinted at her, then shook his head. "I fail to see how you are responsible for anyone else in the room."

"Of course I'm responsible. Well, not for everyone. Just one particular lady." The thought of her failure in that regard made Morwen drain her mostly full glass completely too. A warm avalanche of wooziness washed over her a moment later. She touched her forehead. "Ooh. I shouldn't have done that."

"Steady," Thengel murmured. His hand felt warm on her back as she swayed a little. "You are in a mood tonight."

Something in his tone, which half soothed and half censured, cracked her composure a little.

"Yes, I am," she moaned. "I feel that I am willing to go to great lengths to secure your future happiness by anticipating potential damages but here you are putting in no effort at all."

"Is that truly how you feel?" he murmured.

"Yes," Morwen answered. "You have no compassion for the position this puts me in."

Thengel looked like he wanted to remind her that she had created that position without being asked or encouraged. Morwen waited for it. But the expression passed.

"Perhaps I've been remiss in my behavior," he reflected. "But it's easily mended." He took her empty glass away when a server offered to exchange it for a full one. "Come. I think it's time we had our dance. You look like you might need someone to prop you up in a discreet and respectable way."

Morwen glared at him. "Our dance? I believe you and I are at cross purposes regarding how your behavior should be mended," she scolded. "I expressly told you to occupy Lady Húnil tonight. We," she wagged a finger between them, "do not have a dance."

His jaw slid into that singularly stubborn angle she recognized. "It's part of the arrangement."

"Is it?" She admitted that her mind had gone fuzzier than an unsheared sheep but she couldn't recall that point when she had created the arrangement.

"Naturally. So we can debrief one another."

She eyed him warily. "Haven't we done so just now?"

"True, but since we have both failed in our partners, I think we'd better have the dance all the same. It's the formality of the thing," he said sagely. "Besides, people will think we're snubbing the host if we stand around in this stupid manner."

"I agree we shouldn't snub the host." She frowned at nothing, in particular, chewing on her bottom lip while she thought about it. "But I do feel like I would remember if I had added such a step to the arrangement."

"Next time write it out so you don't forget," he suggested.

"You…"

Morwen meant to scold him for making it sound like her mistake when he had just made it all up. But she found that his eyes had wandered to her lips, which had begun to feel a little swollen after she'd thoughtlessly chewed them. And he hadn't noticed her noticing yet. His hand still rested on the small of her back. She found herself leaning into him, noting that he smelled subtly like cedarwood and soap, which made her wonder if he had caught the notes of Serion's overpowering cologne on her dress. She also wondered how many other women would smell like that after tonight.

The instruments flourished, signaling the end of the current set. Morwen turned her head toward the musicians and got a distinct note of something on her dress. Hints of spice and musk.

"Well, Morwen?"

"I smell like Serion, don't I?" She wafted the air around her shoulders trying to pick up the scent again.

A look came into Thengel's eyes that on any other man, she might choose to interpret a certain way. On him, she dismissed it as resulting from the heat in the room or too much wine. He had made his position clear, after all. Hadn't he?

But then his hand slid up from her lower back, drawing her close as if they were about to dance right then and there. His chest was a solid wall and she couldn't help but lean against him. Maybe it was the wine, but Morwen felt her eyes begin to cross as she stared at the line of his shoulder. His nose brushed her ear as he breathed in. Then he released her, stepping away as if he had only meant to pick away a piece of lint from her dress. She stared at his profile for a moment in astonishment with her heart in her throat, trying to remember how to breathe.

"I can't say I do smell his cologne," he remarked as he held out his arm. "Now, will you dance?"

Morwen swallowed. It had grown blistering in the hall. She should have eased into that last glass of wine, remembering belatedly that she'd already had two. And it wasn't the watered-down stuff her mother served for daily enjoyment.

"All right," she said warily as she threaded her arm through his. "But only because I know Húnil won't interpret our being together in a competitive light."

Thengel's gaze traveled from her eyes down the line of her nose. When his eyes met hers again, they were clear but something about them reminded her of Húnil's earlier.

"Don't you think that would help?" he asked.

"Do you?"

"I believe," he mused, "that we could do a great deal toward making them jealous by dancing impeccably together."

Morwen blinked at him. "I never said I wanted to make Serion jealous."

"You look like you wish to make someone jealous." That interesting gleam appeared in his eyes again.

Morwen found herself grinning before she could stop it. "Do I? How nice."

"I don't think I meant it that way." Thengel gave her a parting sardonic look before he flagged down a server to take the empty glasses he held between the fingers of his free hand.

Morwen let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor where they waited for an opportunity to slip in among the couples. Unable to help herself, she scanned the room. What she saw made her laugh in relief. Thengel cast her a questioning glance.

"Serion isn't capable of jealousy. See?"

Morwen nodded toward the statue where she could see a woman's loose hair behind one corner of the tall pedestal and the back of his red tunic peeking around the other marble corner. Recalling the beautiful combs that bound Húnil's hair, Morwen thought that her friend must have escaped after all. It made Morwen feel charitably toward Serion again.

"He's already found another woman to seduce. I hope she shall enjoy being ruined."

Thengel choked, then said, "It's very considerate of you to wish her well." He cleared his throat. "But how do you know it isn't Húnil?"

Morwen despaired of Thengel. "You didn't notice her hair piled up in combs? That woman's wearing her hair down."

"I did notice," Thengel replied. "But combs can be easily removed."

"How do you know? Wear them often?" she quipped before she understood his meaning. Then she blushed and said, "Oh."

Thengel politely pretended not to notice that she'd embarrassed herself, which made her feel both foolish and grateful. She wondered about the state of women's combs in Pelargir. It didn't happen often, but once in a while circumstances forced her to remember that Thengel had been out in the world a lot longer than she had, with life experiences that didn't involve her. The gratitude began to ebb while the feeling of foolishness increased.

She rallied enough to say, "It's unlikely to be Húnil. No woman in her right mind would go through all the trouble to put her hair up in that elaborate style only to let someone take it down right away in a public place. The reception won't be over for hours."

"In the case of a seduction, it's certainly more expedient to wear it down from the start," he murmured, glancing at her head.

"Yes, I — what?" Was he talking about her hair?

Thengel gave her a mild, curious look. "Hm?"

Morwen began to suspect that bland expression of his…of what, she didn't know precisely. It might be possible, she reflected, that there was more to Thengel than a stubbornly incompetent lover of Lady Húnil. Probably not. But possibly.

He released her elbow, then held out his hand for her to take as the musicians sipped from the tankards kept under their chairs and arranged themselves for the next piece. She slipped her fingers onto his open palm, eyeing his fingers as they gripped hers; though calloused, he did keep the nails trimmed and clean. He gave the appearance of being a very neat, unfailingly polite, mild-tempered man who could be taken advantage of by every Serion in the room…even if he did know a thing or two about combs. The man was a walking contradiction.

"You know," she began, "I have often wondered what dancing with you might be like."

"I'm happy to answer any questions you might have." He winked at her. "Or we could just try it."

Morwen had many questions but she thought she'd start with the most important one. "Are you a pleasing partner or do you push ladies around the floor like a mop?"

That interesting glint reappeared in his eyes but she didn't let it trouble her. She rather liked it along with the way he half frowned like he wanted to squash a smile. She'd known that smile for as long as she could remember. The glint was much newer.

"Morwen, I'm prepared to feel offended that you'd question my technique."

Morwen turned jaundiced eyes to the other guests. "It's the only explanation I can produce for why a man with a courtly upbringing would choose to hide away in a stuffy port like Pelargir when specifically invited by a minor lord of Lossarnach…."

"Invited by the minor lord or just by his stationary?" Thengel interjected.

"Worse," she moaned. "The daughter of the minor lord who stole the stationary. Explain yourself."

Thengel hesitated, then said soberly, "Borders don't stop needing protection because a certain young woman comes of age."

Morwen inhaled sharply, feeling like she'd missed a step on the stairs. She felt her face grow hot. This time it had nothing to do with the wine or innuendo or his nose brushing her ear. His answer didn't satisfy her. In fact, it hurt.

At times like these, she took after her mother more than she cared to admit.

"Oh, certainly. Not when you're the only man standing between Gondor and a full-scale invasion," she quipped with deliberate lightness and perhaps a touch of acid. "Whatever did Lord Turgon do to protect the realm before Thengel Thrice-Renowned turned up on his doorstep?"

Thengel had the sense to look chastened, especially when she slipped her hand out of his. She turned her back on him and stepped away. It didn't matter which direction, she simply had to move.

"Where are you going?" he called.

"To find another partner," she said over her shoulder. "Then if you'd like to return to Pelargir this minute, you're free to. Oh look, there's Aranel. She'll be able to introduce me—"

"Morwen…"

She marched on, insensible as to where. "Your vigilance is admirable, Thengel. Don't let me keep you."

"Morwen, wait." Thengel caught up with her and seizing her arm, turned her toward himself. "If I apologize, will you reconsider?"

She tilted her chin upward, pressing a finger into his chest as multiple eyes in the room turned their way. "As if I'd be impolitic enough to volunteer that information before you've done so."

Thengel rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded her. "Listen, it was a foolish thing to say."

"I agree, but that's not an apology."

"My careless words have caused you pain and for that, I am deeply sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Morwen studied him, trying to discern what she wanted through the noise of hurt feelings. He hadn't just been careless, he'd put her in her place — the same way his reply last year had done. Unfortunately, a crowded ballroom of interested people and three glasses of wine did nothing to facilitate clarity. So she arranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.

"That's the next song," she observed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Take a risk?"

Morwen sighed. "I suppose I'm young enough to successfully convalesce if you either dismember or mortally offend me a second time."

"That's the spirit," he answered, though his smile held a note of caution as if he didn't count on being fully forgiven.

Thengel led her onto the floor between other couples. The musicians played a cheerful piece that made her think of a breeze running through spring flowers…a terrible contrast to how she felt now, which was heavy with unresolved feelings for someone who didn't give two straws about her except as a family friend.

She rested one hand on his shoulder as he pulled her closer. Since Thengel's nearness and his touch hadn't taken her by surprise this time, she found she could breathe. His hand on her waist felt comfortably warm and weighty. Steadying.

Despite the set-down he'd given her, it felt nice to be near him, especially given how the wine had found its way down to her legs. It made her knees feel like they were put on backward. Sort of like her heart at the moment. Confused and nonsensical. She wanted simultaneously to be as near to him as possible and as far away as she could get.

Other couples flowed around them, the drone of their conversations in her ears. Now that they were dancing, however, she'd lost the thread of conversation. She rarely found herself in such a state. Her efforts with Serion must have drained her more than she thought. Or perhaps learning that she still ranked below a dank port had done that. Thengel seemed to follow her mood and the first set passed away without another word beyond a few trivialities. At least she could confirm that he didn't push women around like mops.

Before the music began again, Morwen expected that they would part ways. When he didn't let her go, she decided she could bear another turn. After that, she'd seek out Lhindis and Húnil.

"Morwen, don't take this as a criticism," he murmured in her ear, finally breaking the silence. "But you keep hitting my knee with yours."

"Oh, it's not my knee," she answered, after scanning herself. "It's my sketchbook. I sewed pockets into my dress but made them too low. Next time I'll practice on muslin first."

"Couldn't you wear a purse like other ladies?"

Some women had chosen to wear highly decorated pouches fastened to their fine belts. But Morwen looked askance at the suggestion.

"And spoil the silhouette of this dress?"

Thengel considered the dress and seemed to linger at the neckline. "Forgive me. I wasn't thinking." Then he said, "Do your dresses usually come with pockets?"

Morwen smirked. "No, it's a brilliant idea I got from Húnil." She raised her chin in challenge, beginning to think she'd have to keep it permanently held that way while in his presence. "She's extremely clever. Did you not at least find her a charming partner?"

"Húnil is both clever and charming," he droned.

When it seemed they were in danger of falling silent again, Morwen said, "She told me that there's to be a new king in Rhovanion. Is that true?"

Thengel nodded. "Two new kings, in fact…or there will be after Bard's coronation."

"Two?"

"Besides Bard, there's King Dáin of the Dwarves in Erebor," he told her. "Dáin Ironfoot some call him."

"One would be afraid to dance with him," Morwen reflected. Thengel grinned at her and she couldn't help smiling back. "Húnil also said —"

The smile curdled somewhat. "Húnil had plenty of opportunity to speak for herself earlier. What does Morwen have to say, I wonder?"

Morwen gave him a desperate look. "It doesn't matter. It's Húnil's night. I'm just standing in as a placeholder for her. Wherever she is." Morwen glanced around the hall again. She spotted Lhindis asleep in a chair at the opposite end of the hall, but no sign of Húnil.

Thengel grimaced. "A placeholder?"

"Yes, to keep other women from enacting their designs on you in Húnil's absence," she elaborated, still looking around.

"What other women?"

True, she didn't exactly see a rabid horde.

"Aren't there any?" she asked. Maybe he had left them in Pelargir, a churlish inner voice remarked. Along with their combs.

He shook his head. "It must be my enormous forehead and mustard-yellow hair."

Morwen gave him a speculative look, ignoring the ribbing at his caricature's expense. "Truly? Not even in Pelargir?"

"Truly, not even in Pelargir," he replied. "Morwen, understand that once women realize that my titles carry an obligation to move to the uncouth north, they tend to lose their enthusiasm. I've been in this country so long that it's a widely known fact."

"Their loss," she said adamantly. Then she quickly added, "But Húnil isn't like them. She said she could move at a moment's notice."

"It's doubtful she had Edoras in mind when she made that remark and you know it."

"Perhaps no one has told her it has a golden roof," Morwen mused. "It would complement her dress very nicely." Just like everything else tonight.

His expression shifted to something decidedly wolfish. "May I also point out that she has opinions about marrying stuffy old kings from other countries?"

Morwen stared at him. "But you're not stuffy!" she insisted, though indignant on his behalf in case other people thought so.

Thengel inclined his head. "Thank you."

"Just horribly complacent when it comes to women."

Thengel pressed his lips into a fine line, choosing to say nothing.

"I still can't believe you let her get away." Morwen felt pressure in her throat just thinking about it. The match had to succeed.

Thengel's eyes rolled. "Your belief in my power to keep any woman captivated beyond a polite period is perhaps unfounded."

"Because you do not apply yourself," she admonished. "You only had to charm her."

Thengel looked a little uncomfortable. "Charm is a…southern notion, Morwen. The Rohirrim do not wander around charming one another."

"Lovers in the Mark must do something or else your people would have died out by now."

Thengel's gaze grew long as he contemplated. "If I recall correctly, the negotiations tended to go something like, 'We're in for a long winter. You look warm. Shall we cohabitate?'"

Morwen squinted at him. "I think you're teasing me."

"In such cases where that does fail," he drawled on, "then something along the lines of owning more horses than Cynebald and all his uncles usually helps."

"Who's Cynebald?"

"No one. It's an expression." He shrugged. "Anyway, it illustrates how wooing's accomplished in the Mark."

Morwen frowned. "So, inclement weather and horses are the basis for romance in your homeland?"

"The cold is considerable," Thengel pressed. "And so are our horses."

"No wonder making you a match has been such an uphill trudge relative to Gaeron. I hadn't taken into account the considerable cultural differences," Morwen reflected.

"Yes, that's the reason entirely," Thengel muttered.

But Morwen had fixated on one point. She asked, "For the sake of reference, should Húnil be interested, how many horses do you have?"

"More than Cynebald and all his uncles." Thengel pursed his lips, thinking. "More than his aunts too."

"Numerically speaking," Morwen murmured, "that comes out to about…"

"Lots."

"Mm-hm." Then she said, "Thank you for the cultural lesson, horse-master, but there's something you're neglecting."

Thengel watched her for a moment. "What's that?"

"The fact that you've lived among southerners longer than you've lived in the north — if only by a narrow margin. I can tell our ways have rubbed off on you, which means you're capable of charming a lady without referencing Cynebard-"

"Cynebald."

"Yes…or his uncles." She tapped his shoulder where her hand rested. "You simply have to apply yourself."

Thengel nodded at a couple who'd been eavesdropping nearby. "Easier said than done," he replied as they scuttled away.

"Behaving charmingly is easy. I do it all the time."

Thengel made a sound that might have been a scoff or a laugh. "Some might say you have charm in excess," he muttered.

Morwen gave him a toothy smile. "Thank you."

"Again, I'm not sure…never mind." He shook his head, then looked at her pensively. "I suppose charm is simple for a beautiful young woman, but you have to make allowances that it's a little more difficult for crusty old warriors brought up in wild places."

"You're only a little crusty, Thengel."

"If you say so."

"And being old isn't an excuse. Cousin Angelimir is positively ancient but he's the most charming man I know." And he had good taste in sweets.

"You aren't going to say that I'm only a little old?" Thengel asked.

Morwen's face turned grim. "I'll allow that you are younger than Angelimir."

Thengel pulled her closer so that he could almost brush her cheek with his nose. His hands squeezed her waist in a way that sent a thrill from her stomach to her heart. "Saucebox."

That surprised Morwen into a laugh. He hadn't called her that since she was a little girl throwing apples at him from one of the orchard trees. And she could tell by the look in his eye that those apples weren't far from his mind either.

"Charm is simple, Thengel. In essence, it's a blend of conversational prowess matched with genuine interest," she explained after she'd put some distance between them. "It's amazing how people respond when you notice them. With the right sort of person whole hours could slip away in what feels like minutes."

Thengel nodded. "Indeed. But I don't seem to have that effect on Húnil."

"Not yet, perhaps," Morwen agreed. "But you are lucky then that I have secured her for tomorrow's outing. A reception provides too much stimulation maybe."

"It certainly provides a variety of other partners." Then he added, "Which seems less rude than keeping someone all to oneself, by the way."

Morwen almost howled at his lack of initiative as a lover. "Rude? In the dictates of modern courtship, it's every man for himself. Courtesy be damned."

Thengel absorbed this concept for a moment. "Why such a cutthroat policy?"

Morwen exhaled in despair at his ignorance. "It has to be, Thengel. There's simply no room for inertia these days. Do you believe the Serions of the world are going to behave in a sportsmanlike manner? No!" she declared, half wishing she had a box to stand on. "They're much more likely to snatch a woman out from under a complacent man just when he isn't looking — or even when he is. Ours is an age of action, not manners."

"You may be right." Thengel leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Don't look now, but isn't that our friend Húnil with that unsportsmanlike Serion? Sans combs."

"What!" Morwen cried, turning in his arms to look back. She missed him rolling his eyes.

"For someone who requires other people to dance to her tune, following instruction isn't one of your strengths," he quipped, maneuvering her out of the way of the other couples before she could cause a collision.

She ignored him as she stared at the pair who were now openly thwarting her plans on the dance floor. The combs had disappeared after all, leaving Húnil's long hair trailing down her back in a flagrant manner. So, she had been lurking behind the pillar allowing Serion to ruin her reputation and her coiffure this whole time!

"How dare he," Morwen fumed even as she caught herself admiring the combination of scarlet and gold — now she really did see the subjects for her Tar-Míriel and Ar-Pharazôn. "I found Húnil first."

"I'm not sure this is a matter for finders-keepers." Thengel maneuvered Morwen back into facing him. She felt irritated to see the humor in his eyes. He should look heartsick. "Serion should probably be excused for not knowing about your project. After all, it's very likely that Húnil doesn't realize that you've staked a claim on her either."

Morwen grimaced. "Well, I can't outright tell her as I did with Gaeron. She'll have to believe that falling in love with you is her own idea."

Thengel snorted. "One would assume." He looked thoughtful. "I didn't know that she and Serion were acquainted."

Morwen sucked in her bottom lip before she could help herself.

Noticing, Thengel's eyebrow rose. "You look like your conscious is pricking you. Care to confess?"

She glanced up at him, then away with a stubborn set to her jaw. "No, thank you."

"Morwen."

"Oh, very well," she groaned, studiously looking at the indentation below his throat rather than into his eyes. "I introduced them."

"Making another escape?"

She nodded.

"It seems to me that you're getting in the way of your own plans then," he pointed out, "all the while blaming me for a lack of charm."

Morwen huffed. He wasn't completely wrong, but how dare he say it anyway. She decided to keep her eyes on his shoulder so she wouldn't have to see the smug expression on his face.

"You're surprised then that he asked her to dance?" Thengel continued. "And that she accepted?"

"Yes," she admitted, half-heartedly. "It must be a mistake. Perhaps she had no polite way to refuse."

"In which case, surely you're not the only woman capable of inventing an ankle injury," he teased.

Morwen wrinkled her nose. "She may have better scruples than me."

"Assuredly so, dear heart." Thengel cleared his throat. "Or perhaps she enjoys his company? I've heard more than once that Serion is a paragon of charm."

Morwen gave Thengel an accusing glare. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"Is it?" he asked, unruffled by her ill humor. "Even Serion deserves companionship."

That was not a convenient philosophy, especially as it came at Thengel's expense. Too much charity could be as much a vice as greed. Morwen almost suspected that Thengel wanted to die alone.

"So do you," Morwen countered. "And you are being very cool given that Serion used this evening to steal your lady love."

Thengel drew her closer, almost as close as when he'd checked her for notes of Serion's cologne.

"Oh, I may have almost lost my head, but I recovered nicely," he said in her ear. His voice sounded dry as old paper. "It's probably the benefit of maturity and experience."

Morwen ignored him, her mind busy…and because she didn't think he deserved notice. Then her eyes lit up as a happy thought occurred to her. She had to crane her neck back a little to look at him.

"I know! You could always cut in."

He pursed his lips, then said, "Another example of modern courtship?"

"Oh, yes," she grinned impishly. "Go on. I won't mind."

"But I will mind very much." He added, "Maybe I'm too old-fashioned to appreciate its nuances, but it seems to me that modern courtship and piracy share certain parallels — a lack of courtesy being one of them."

"I could cut in for you," she offered, ignoring his criticism of modern courtship. "I'm not old fashioned — and I have sometimes desired to become a pirate."

"Then you'd have to tangle with me," Thengel pointed out.

Morwen swallowed. She almost liked the sound of that. It gave her an interesting sensation. But she chose to remind him, "Other corsairs may find you formidable, but I'm a menace with apples."

Thengel glanced wryly at her. "You realize I might have been humoring that little waif of a girl you used to be at the time."

"An unlikely story." An unripe apple in the right spot smarted like anything. Morwen had good aim. She gave him a sly look. "If you lack the courage to inconvenience a rogue like Serion, then I'll take it upon myself as your matchmaker —"

His grip on her waist tightened as she threatened to walk off. "If you do I will tell your mother about your floral arrangements."

Morwen blushed, though she couldn't exactly say why. She looked into his eyes and thought she saw a hint of piracy there despite his demurring about being old-fashioned…and an agent of Captain Ecthelion.

"You'd dare?"

"I would," he answered gravely. "So you had better stay put with me. Enjoy your evening and leave Húnil to enjoy hers."

Morwen subsided. "Well, I can't go anywhere until Húnil does, I suppose." And the woman seemed inclined to enjoy as many partners as possible. Or at least, any partner that wasn't Thengel. Or, really, just Serion. If Tathren had been as unmanageable as Húnil then Gaeron would still be a bachelor.

Thengel cleared his throat, rousing her from her abstraction. "I don't know much about modern courtship, but according to the old fashion it's customary for partners to enjoy a conversation." When she looked up at him, he said, "I'll start. You haven't told me what I missed last year."

Morwen felt her breath catch in her throat for a brief, fractured moment. "That would only bore the both of us," she said coldly to his shoulder.

"I could feign interest."

"But I couldn't," she retorted. "As they say, you had to be there."

Morwen could be mistaken but she thought he looked a little stung. She relented even though she had no desire to circle back to a subject that had caused her enough pain for one evening. Even if he had hurt her, she found she didn't enjoy the thought of hurting him back.

"I wore this dress," she offered, relenting a little.

His eyes traveled down the length of the dress again, taking in all the places where the fabric pinched or curved or didn't exist at all. "It becomes you very well."

"Thank you," she said dully.

If the color combination made Morwen and Serion look like a blood blister, she thought the dark purple with Thengel's blue tunic looked like a bad bruise. Húnil had done much better in her choice of a gown. She seemed to compliment every man with whom she danced.

But it was a lovely dress and Morwen did look nice in it. She wouldn't have worn it otherwise.

"Lord Serion said I reminded him of the Queen of the Stars," she shared, curious to see how Thengel would take it.

"This year or last year?" he asked, looking unimpressed.

"Both." She reflected, "He may not be known for his moral scruples but one can appreciate his constancy."

"Then I won't point out that he's never seen Elbereth to form a valid opinion," he replied dismissively.

Morwen's eyebrows rose. "Then you don't think I deserved the compliment?"

"Your beauty shouldn't be reduced to gauche comparisons."

Well, Morwen had enjoyed the gauche comparison…at least, the first time.

Perhaps sensing that his own compliment wasn't received well, Thengel steered the conversation elsewhere. "How did you spend your day?" he asked.

"Mother dragged me to all of the merchants in the city. She is determined to domesticate me."

He smirked, familiar with the long saga of Morwen's slithering out of chores. "How did you cope?"

She allowed some of her desperation to show. "I don't know that I did cope. I performed spontaneous arithmetic."

His eyebrows rose. "My word."

"How did you spend your day?" she asked, not wishing to discuss the finer points of wholesale.

"I had a bathtub installed."

Ah. That piqued Morwen's interest. She wanted to ask Thengel about the so-called bridal suite, especially as he seemed in no hurry to procure the bride she'd found for him.

"That is very domestic, too. How is your project proceeding?"

"Since yesterday?" he chuckled. "Other than the tub, nothing much has changed. It always goes slower than expected, especially toward the end. The millworkers keep disappearing into their hidey-holes. A bit like orcs."

Morwen stared over his shoulder. "That is too bad. I would have liked to see your modern, west-facing room, but we leave in three days."

That complacent smile came back. "You'll be back after the harvest, as usual."

Morwen shook her head. "Mother says not before the end of Nínui next year, depending on the mud. Though it's more likely that we'll return after Tuilérë and my birthday have passed. I think Mother has had her fill of the city, which I don't believe a few months in the country will cure. And you know Father does whatever she says."

"Not till after Tuilérë." Thengel grew thoughtful. "That's nearly another year."

Morwen tried to arch her brow the way he did, but it wouldn't cooperate. "Now you look like you're doing arithmetic."

"One must from time to time," he replied a little abstractedly.

"Well, perhaps if you were to marry before Mettarë I could talk Mother into sending me with Gaeron and Tathren to attend."

He gave her a strange look.

She rushed to add, "If you invited me, that is."

His lips formed a stubborn line.

"Listen," Morwen began, understanding how to interpret his expression. "I know that tonight isn't going as planned but there's still tomorrow. When the happy event takes place, I'll visit Húnil."

"That's not the circumstance I had in mind," he replied wearily.

Before she could ask him to explain, the musicians gave another flourish and the song ended. All the couples retreated from the floor. Morwen was surprised to see each player begin to pack up their music and instruments.

"Is it over, already?" she gasped.

Thengel looked surprised, as well. "It can't be past midnight."

Morwen stepped away from him, feeling like she had fallen through a portal where time passed differently. "That went by quickly."

He smiled at her. "So it did."

Morwen spotted Húnil approaching through the crowd toward their location in the middle of the floor. Her waiting-woman trailed behind with an exaggerated yawn.

"The pair of you looked like you could have won a contest had there been one. Everyone's saying so," Húnil laughed. Then she asked Morwen, "Are you ready to go home?"

Morwen tried to think of several cutting things to say but found that she could not. Húnil's ceaseless good cheer had that effect on people. Instead, Morwen found herself nodding mutely as a wave of weariness caught her. She looked at Thengel to discover if he meant to leave with them, noting that he also looked unperturbed in his wandering love's presence.

"I must pay my respects to Ecthelion and his guests of honor before I leave," he told them. "Oh, I see him there." Then he looked down at Morwen and pressed her hand. "What's your verdict before I go? Do you feel like a mop?"

Did she? Only if mops were prone to confusion. "I'll reserve judgment for another time, Thengel. Three glasses of wine may have tampered with my powers of perception."

The expression on his face suggested he agreed with her. "Safe home then."

"Safe home," she repeated, squeezing his fingers in return.

Looping her arm through Morwen's, Húnil wished Thengel good night. Her tone surprised Morwen by containing all the good humor and friendliness it had held before the reception as if she hadn't spent the evening jilting him. Morwen also noted that Húnil did indeed smell of Serion's cologne. The man certainly was liberal in using it. And spreading it.

As they left the hall, they were caught by a light rain that had begun to fall sometime in the night. Morwen could feel her hair frizzle without the benefit of a cloak and hood. Her mother had won that debate and Morwen regretted being stubborn about it. She reflected that she felt very similar to how she had a year ago at her presentation. Dissatisfied. A little sorry. But now she could add a deep dislike of purple…even if it did look almost blue.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked Húnil, though a waspish part of her didn't truly wish to know. "Your hair is different."

Húnil patted her head. "I lost the combs somehow." She laughed in her usual artless manner.

Morwen decided to adopt a meditative silence the rest of the way home, which anyone would attribute to having spent a late night out. But at the gate to her family's house, she decided she needed to extract one more promise regarding their outing on the Pelennor with Thengel before getting down from the cart.

Húnil yawned. "I'm perfectly content to ride out tomorrow. But make it the afternoon, you know. Nahtar I'll have to leave at home. I'm far too tired to handle him. Wouldn't want him getting away and gobbling up some poor, innocent child."

That was for the best. Now Nahtar only made Morwen think of Lord Serion. She'd have to try drawing him as a cat once she felt a little less strongly about his theft of Húnil's attention during the evening.

They parted at her family's gate. Morwen trudged wearily across the slick paving stones and up the steps where she rang the bell and prepared to wait at the door to be let in by a half-asleep servant especially waiting up for her. But the door jerked open after only a second or two.

Morwen gasped at the man standing in the lamplight pooling out from the hall. The hem of his damp traveling cloak billowed in the damp breeze that glided over the threshold from the courtyard. He looked like he had just arrived inside and judging by the mud splattered all over him, he'd ridden hastily.

"Gaeron," she cried, "What are you doing home?"

AN: Thank you to all the readers and to those who have left kind notes. I always enjoy hearing what you thought.

Calendars in King and Steward Reckoning:
Nínui: 2nd month of the year, means wet.
Tuilérë: 1st day of spring
Mettarë: 1st Yule. Means last-day.