A Consolation of Princes
Chapter 7: A confusion of brothers

"That is the question of the hour," Gaeron muttered as he tugged her inside out of the drizzle.

Morwen stared at her brother in shock as he shut the door behind them. Strands of damp dark hair clung to his throat and forehead and he still wore muddy riding clothes. He should have been dry and clean in Lossarnach. It was a day's ride just to their family's estate, and perhaps another half day to the vineyard where the newlyweds were supposed to be staying.

While Morwen studied Gaeron, he studied her with his hands on his hips in a manner that reminded her of their mother.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

Morwen thought that would be obvious from the way she had dressed. It also seemed like she should be the one asking questions rather than her suddenly present and overbearing brother. After all, everyone expected her to be at home but he had materialized out of nowhere when he was least expected.

Gaeron leaned toward her and sniffed. "Whatever scent you're using is a little too masculine, Mora."

Morwen blushed. "Would you say it reminded you of a boreal forest or a weasel?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, shouldn't you be on your wedding tour?" she countered. "Where's Tathren?"

His lips formed a grim line as he removed his damp cloak. "You'll find out soon enough."

Morwen felt icy shards of apprehension form in her stomach. From the sounds of it, Tathren had been kidnapped after all. A pity Gaeron hadn't taken Morwen's pin with him. Before she could inquire about the rescue party, Gwereneth appeared at the top of the stairs clutching her dressing gown around her waist. The servant Morwen had expected to answer the door earlier now peeked out from around his mistress's shoulder as he followed several steps behind her.

"So it is you, Gaeron. What is this about?" their mother inquired. "Oh, there's Morwen, too. That woman managed to bring you back in one piece, I see."

Gaeron looked a question at Morwen, as if he meant, What woman?

Morwen shook her head once to indicate that she did not have the time or the energy to explain Húnil or her project on Thengel's behalf. Besides, Gaeron did not appear to be in a romantic or particularly sympathetic mood. She felt she would need both qualities in a confidant before relaying the mishaps of the evening.

Gwereneth descended the stairs and floated on bare feet toward her sitting room giving Morwen no time to explain anyway. Morwen thought her mother must be startled if she ran out of her bedroom without slippers. The servant took Gaeron's cloak before disappearing into the sitting room after his mistress.

"Come here, you two," their mother ordered from the threshold.

Gaeron gestured for Morwen to lead the way. Gwereneth settled into her chair while the servant lit a lamp for them. Gaeron hovered between Amarthor's chair and the mantlepiece.

"Is Father coming down?" Morwen asked, trying to decide if she should steal his chair or bring one over.

"I doubt that will be necessary," Gwereneth sniffed. "Sit down, Gaeron, and explain yourself. I'm surprised to see you in town, not to mention at such an hour. We agreed to meet again in Imloth Melui."

In the end, Gaeron took Amarthor's chair and Morwen dragged one over for herself so that he wouldn't have to raise his voice to be heard across the room at her usual sofa.

"Tathren hasn't taken ill, I hope," Morwen said. Or been taken away completely.

"She's well enough," Gaeron grumbled.

Morwen rubbed her nose while feeling more than a little confused. "Then where is she?"

Her mother gave her a look. "Morwen, hush."

Gaeron sighed roughly. "She's with her parents." Before Morwen could ask more questions, he held up his hand. "If you must know, she asked me to bring her back."

"To Minas Tirith?" Morwen wondered. "Didn't she like the vineyard?"

"I mean back to her family." Gaeron rubbed his forehead. "For good."

Morwen gaped at her brother. Even Gwereneth looked a little ashen. The atmosphere in the shadowy room felt suddenly heavy. Morwen could feel it pressing on her shoulders.

None of this news made any sense to Morwen. Was it possible to take back a whole marriage just like that? They'd had witnesses from all over Gondor. Even Rohan, if Thengel could still be considered a representative. Even so, the "why" eluded her.

"But you've only been married for four…I guess, five days," Morwen pointed out. "Tathren can't be sick of you yet."

And Morwen should know. Her brother and Tathren were two parts of the same soul. She had explained that to them often enough.

"Morwen, you aren't helping," Gwereneth snapped. "Now, my son, what was the cause of this mercurial request?"

"We had a fight," he said to his knees.

Morwen leaned forward. "What about?"

"That's none of your business," Gwereneth retorted. Her sharp eyes drifted over her daughter. "Morwen, go to bed. You look spent. Besides, it's best if I speak to your brother alone without him being peppered with imprudent questions."

"But…"

Gwereneth gave her a look that could have shriveled a stone.

Morwen surrendered. "I'm going. Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Gaeron."

As she passed from the room she gave Gaeron a look that guaranteed she would save up her imprudence to pry later. He cringed. She elected to interpret that look as reluctance to be alone with their mother rather than an aversion to her nosiness.

"Goodnight, Mora," he sighed.

Morwen passed the servant waiting in the passage, envious of his ability to eavesdrop at the keyhole once she disappeared. As she climbed the stairs toward her room, her stomach felt queasy, partially from three glasses of wine, a slight quarrel with Thengel, and a lack of sleep, but mostly from her apprehensions about her brother's marriage. And since her mother refused to allow Gaeron to explain in front of her, she had a long string of possibilities running rampant through her mind.

Contrary to expectation, however, sleep found Morwen almost immediately upon throwing herself into bed. She only had time to reflect on one or two things that Thengel had said and done that evening which contrasted in a confusing way with the letter he'd written her a year ago. But as she couldn't make sense of them side by side, she groaned into the blankets and let oblivion come.

…

When Morwen woke some hours later, the curtains had already been drawn for her. She slipped out of bed and padded over to the windows, her heart sinking to her toes. The world outside looked gray with rain and disappointment.

It only went to show that in order to manage a proper romance, one needed also to manage the weather. Or at least encourage its cooperation. She hadn't learned how to do that, yet.

Morwen unbraided her hair and reflected that she had work to do as she doubted the rain would have a cultivating effect on her subjects' mutual affection. They hadn't arrived at a state of harmony that could be enlivened by dripping on one another.

Morwen threw a wrap around her shoulders and seated herself at the table in front of the window. A servant had left a basket with little buns covered by a cloth. There was also a pot of hot water kept warm by a chafing dish. She made some tea and while it steeped, she scribbled a hasty note to Lady Húnil on one set of stationary and another to Thengel on her father's in order to cancel the day's outing and to propose that they try again on the next. She rang a bell and left the letters outside her door.

The sun simply had to come out tomorrow, she thought as she washed and dressed. That would be her last day in Minas Tirith and the final day of her agreement with Thengel. She refused to countenance Failure — she had no intention of spending another year with any possibilities hanging over her head. Thengel was a book that needed closing.

With tea in hand, Morwen also snatched the basket of buns and went in search of Gaeron. After ducking in and out of his usual haunts, she found him hiding in the back stoop leading into the garden collecting rainwater like a fool. An extremely tall man even by her family's standard, he sat hunched on a step with his knees almost to his ears. She took one look at him and then back to fetch their cloaks. She put hers on before joining him outside again.

After stepping out onto the stoop, she dumped Gaeron's cloak over his head. She had to do some nuanced maneuvering to get her mug of tea and the basket of buns transferred from her single-handed grip without spilling. Then she settled onto the stoop next to Gaeron, forcing him to scoot over a little while he tugged the cloak off of his head. She lifted the cloth over the buns and tried one. As she nibbled it, she studied her brother…or what she could see of him from under his hood.

Misery acted poorly upon his features, she thought. Some people could carry it off remarkably well, but it didn't suit her brother. Gaeron had always looked more like the master of hounds rather than the sion of a lord…even a minor one. He normally brimmed with vitality and self-assurance and a general lack of polish that endeared him to people from most walks of life. He preferred plain clothes, exposing his skin to all the elements, and he cut his own hair with a knife…because he could. The ruggedness had appealed to many women of Gaeron's acquaintance. But now he looked tired. Creased. And his hair hung in limp hanks or plastered to his skin in a way that made Morwen think uncomfortably of leeches. Of course, sitting out in a drizzle often had that effect on hair. It felt strange to see her robust brother reduced to moping.

He's thoroughly crossed in love, she thought, if it could drain the handsome out of him. Fortunately, she held in her possession the exact balm for broken-heartedness. Food.

"Would you like a bun?" she asked, extending the basket toward him.

Gaeron turned to glare at her for interrupting his sulk. "No, thank you."

Morwen didn't let his lack of appetite deter hers. "So. Tathren's leaving you, after all," she began as she dug around in the basket for the warmest bun.

Gaeron rolled his eyes. "Stars, Mora, you don't temper the cream as the saying goes."

"Well?" she asked around a mouthful of bread.

Gaeron looked like he meant to lecture her for talking with her mouth full but then realized he didn't have the will. "Who can say?" he sighed. "Maybe we rushed into this marriage business. Do I really know her?"

Morwen felt a stab of guilt. After all, she had arranged the marriage. "What did you fight about?"

He looked like he would rather step on the wrong end of a rake than tell her, so she encouraged him with her elbow.

"Stop that," Gaeron grumbled. "I think it's because I didn't like the dinner she ordered. At least, that's what we were arguing about at the time."

Morwen swallowed the last bite of her second bun. "How would a dinner lead to ending the marriage? It sounds absurd."

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Morwen gave him a look. "What did she order that could be so awful? Boiled kittens?"

He almost smiled. "Well, it sounds stupid now, but it seemed like life and death back then," he admitted. "She ordered some mess of stewed vegetables and grains."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that's the problem," he huffed. "That's all she ordered. She said it's healthy to have meatless days on occasion. Maybe in Pelargir that's true." Gaeron looked exasperated by this new idea. "But I explained that in Lossarnach only paupers eat nothing but vegetables and I won't tolerate it at my table. How is a full-blooded man to live on rabbit food and rice?"

The scene played out in her mind's eye. "You said that out loud?" Morwen asked weakly.

He crossed his arms under his cloak. "Of course."

"Oh, Gaeron," Morwen groaned. "I imagine you made her cry."

Her brother blinked down at her. "How did you know?"

Morwen's fingers gripped the basket, fighting the urge to hurl it at his head for being so obtuse. "Because women don't want to be talked to like they're some dogsbody, Gaeron."

Gaeron gazed out blindly into the garden. "She did accuse me of being heartless and cruel after she put so much effort into arranging the meal."

"And then you apologized, I hope?"

Gaeron balked. "What? No. I told her that there was no need to get emotional," he grumbled. "The kitchen probably had a cold roast on hand."

"Gaeron!" Morwen chided. "How did that work for you?"

He lowered his head. "She cried even more and declared she was going back to her mother."

"I could have predicted that," Morwen sniffed.

Gaeron looked askance. "I have a right to enjoy my meals."

"At Tathren's expense?"

"What do you mean?"

"You hurt her feelings, you oaf, just when she's trying to get used to being your wife," Morwen pointed out.

He sliced the air with his hands. "Which is why I tried explaining my expectations."

"Or," she countered, "You could have thanked her for a good supper and got used to stewed vegetables once in a while. It wouldn't kill you."

"Well, it felt like it might at the time," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I have been, eh, a larger appetite lately."

Morwen frowned, scanning her brother for signs of illness. "Why?"

He gave her another look.

"Oh." Combs. Morwen cleared her throat. "Did you try to talk her out of going away?"

"Of course I did," he groused. "I almost begged. But she'd made up her mind to leave as soon as possible. Anything I had to say fell on deaf ears."

That only presented more questions.

"How did she get here?"

Several modes presented themselves. Morwen knew that Tathren and Gaeron had traveled to Arnach by boat, but travelers with shallower pockets could go by horse. Or a much slower journey could be achieved by purchasing a seat on a mail cart if their purses were very tight. Of them all, horseback would be the least likely for a woman by herself, but that was how Gaeron had arrived.

He jabbed a thumb toward his chest. "I couldn't just let her go by herself."

Morwen shivered, picturing a day and a half's long ride between quarrelers. "I imagine that was a comfortable journey for you."

Gaeron frowned sourly. "You're full of vinegar just like Mother."

Morwen didn't deign to acknowledge the comparison. "What did Mother have to say when you told her?"

Gaeron worried the knuckles of his left hand. "Nothing at all. She just listened. I can't tell you how unnerving it is when even Mother can't think of something cutting to say."

Morwen felt she understood their mother better than Gaeron did for she hardly felt surprised. "I imagine she's cowed by the gossip about to be leveled at our family once the news gets out that your marriage failed after less than a week."

Gaeron hung his head again, rubbing his temples. Morwen almost pitied him. Almost.

"So that's that?" she prodded. "You're going to end the marriage over vegetables?"

Gaeron looked at his hands. "I need to speak to Tathren."

Morwen shuddered at the thought. "Not until you've received some instruction." Then she had a horrible thought. "What if Tangon won't let you into the house?"

"Tathren's still my wife," Gaeron insisted, looking affronted. "He'd be breaking the law if he barred me from her."

Morwen gave him a black look. "And you think leaning on the law will help your case if she's unwilling to see you?"

Gaeron deflated a little, head sinking low over his chest. "Well…no." Then his head snapped up. "Morwen, you sound like you're taking her side of things."

"I hope I'm not obscure."

His eyes turned sharp and accusing. "But I'm your brother."

"And you made her my sister…for the time being." Morwen rubbed rainwater from her forehead. "So?"

He looked like he hadn't ever seen Morwen before. "I expected more support from the sister I helped raise, that's all."

Gaeron often claimed that she would have grown up feral if he hadn't taken her in hand. Morwen always suspected that had more to do with Thengel's presence. Current events confirmed her opinion.

Morwen slumped against Gaeron, putting her arm around his damp shoulder. "Oh Gaeron, it doesn't follow that I don't support you. In this instance, you wronged Tathren and behaved in an unfeeling manner." She paused. "Listen, knowing you as I do, you've been picking at her all along and probably she couldn't stand it anymore."

Gaeron glared at her. She remained unmoved…metaphorically. He did shrug her off his shoulders. "How could you possibly come to that conclusion?"

"A woman doesn't run away for good after one disagreement. That's all I mean," Morwen insisted. "What other expectations have you been leveling at her since the wedding?"

"Well…" Then he raised his chin. "It's none of your business really and I can't say I'm inclined to be forthcoming when you've already made up your mind that I'm at fault."

Morwen nodded coolly. "True, it isn't my business but I would not be doing you a service by pretending you're completely innocent."

"Some sister you are."

Morwen tried not to feel too stung. "Getting angry with me won't help you patch things up with Tathren, nor will refusing to see the part you played in it."

"What am I supposed to do, grovel?"

"Yes!" Morwen's fingers itched for the bread basket. She resisted only by considering that Tathren had more of a right to hurl things at Gaeron than she did. "Or at least admit you were wrong to hurt her feelings by behaving in an ungrateful manner. I'll assist you…whatever you want. Only don't wait too long to talk to her. Now's the best time while it probably still feels strange to be under her parents' roof again. Tell her you don't want to separate and are willing to do what you can to be forgiven."

His lips pressed into a thin line as if the idea strongly grated on his nerves. "I don't fancy groveling to get my own wife back."

"Well, you wouldn't have to if you hadn't upset her in the first place," Morwen retorted. "If you want to go up to her parents' lodgings, I'll come too if that will help. My presence will distract Renneth. She thinks I'm unsteady."

"You are unsteady," Gaeron shot back. Then he eyed her warily. "You would really come with me? It's bound to be unpleasant."

The thought of entering that house for such an errand held no appeal to Morwen. Neither of Tathren's parents had any use for her except as a contrast to their own daughter. She got along fine with Tathren, though that might not be the case now. But she would go for Gaeron's sake…and to assuage her own guilt.

"Yes. I feel sort of responsible for the two of you," Morwen admitted. "After all, you fell in love because I brought you both together."

Gaeron's expression turned blank. "I don't remember you being involved in any way."

"Well, I was," she huffed, affronted. Ungrateful! "Now do you want me to come with you or not?"

He shook his head. "I don't have the courage for it yet." Then he said, "I'll go see Thengel. He always offers sensible advice."

"But I just gave you sensible advice."

He glanced down his nose at her. "Mora, you're a dear but in these matters, you're practically a child. Far too young to understand what happens between married people."

"You've only been married for five days," she grumbled. "It's not much of a head start."

"Maybe but I have a good fifteen years' head start on you in everything else," he reminded her.

"A lot of good it's done you."

Gaeron's fingers knotted in the limp hair at the back of his head, nearly pulling his hood off. "Well, I mean, look," he reasoned, "You haven't even been in love before."

Morwen gave him an icy glare. "Goes to show what you know about women. I've been in love dozens of times since I was eight years old."

"Infatuations don't count," Gaeron retorted. "You can't compare that silly torch you carried for Thengel for years to a real love that makes you want to share your life with someone."

Morwen could feel herself turn scarlet and grow very warm under her hood and cloak. "Oh, certainly. Maybe not a fine healthy love that leads a man to insult a woman's menu," she bristled. "Gaeron, I could just brain you." She raised the basket to illustrate her eagerness.

Gaeron held up his hands to ward off an attack. "I'm only saying you're too young to understand what happens between adults."

It seemed that scarlet would be a permanent color for Morwen. She started to see it like a mist before her eyes. Her cheeks felt blistering. When she spoke again, her voice sounded low like one of Nahtar's warning gnarrs.

"Everyone's accusing me of being too young lately. Has it ever occurred to all of you that you're just too old?" Before he could counter that, Morwen added, "Do you honestly believe that Thengel will have a better understanding of Tathren than I do?"

"No," Gaeron replied. "But he's going to know more about what it's like to be in my shoes than you do."

"Listen to yourself. How's a perpetual bachelor going to know more about it than a woman?" she reasoned. "You just think he'll take your side on principle but he won't."

Gaeron clenched his jaw through her speech, then said, "We'll see about that."

Morwen rose and bent over him. Some rainwater dripped from her hood, landing in his eyes. He flinched away, blinking. "Yes, we certainly will. Let's go now."

"What — with you?" Gaeron scoffed, clutching at the corner of her cloak to keep her from marching off. "You'll only be in the way."

Morwen tugged her cloak free. "Yes, with me," she insisted. "Besides, Thengel bought a new bathtub and I want to see it."

Gaeron gave her a puzzled look and stood up. "Why would you want to see Thengel's bathtub?"

"Doesn't everybody?" she countered.

"No, Mora, they don't."

Morwen gathered up her mug and basket from the flowerbed where they landed when she had jumped up. "Well, I'm nosy, then."

That seemed to answer Gaeron's view of Morwen in a satisfactory way. He relented but said, "You'll have to get past Mother. She's muttering about your inattentiveness again."

Morwen looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. "So, tell her you want me along. A great big man like you shouldn't be so cowed by her."

"Hm. Goes to show what you know about men," he echoed as he opened the door for her. "Come on then."

Morwen dumped the basket and mug on one of the heavy, antique tables that lined the passage. They didn't make it to the front doors before Gwereneth swooped in on them from her sitting room. Both of them turned toward their mother with shoulders hunched like small animals cornered by a bird of prey. Her dark eyes took in every inch of their appearance.

"Where are the pair of you going in this weather…and already drenched?"

"Gaeron wants to visit Thengel for advice," Morwen answered for him.

Gwereneth turned vinegar eyes on her daughter. "And why are you going then? Haven't you seen enough of Lord Thengel over the last few days?"

Morwen batted her lashes in what she hoped to be a disarming fashion. "Moral support."

"That's unlikely," Gwereneth responded dryly.

Gaeron cleared his throat. "It's alright, Mother. I'll keep an eye on her."

"Morwen has work to do here," said Gwereneth, pointing at the floor. "We're leaving in barely two days."

"We are?" Morwen gasped. "Even with Gaeron's mess?"

Morwen hadn't realized that she's made an assumption until her mother stated facts contrary to it. She'd somehow gotten the idea while talking with Gaeron that the family would prolong their departure due to the unfolding disaster. It would seem so strange to return to Lossarnach with Gaeron's marriage unsettled.

Gwereneth sniffed. "Gaeron can stay in town on his own. In fact, he's likely to prosper better without you under his feet."

"Oh, but…"

Gwereneth held out her hand. "Take that cloak off and come with me. Most of the supplies have arrived and I want you to check the crates for the correct quantities."

Morwen clutched the ties of her hood. "But Mother, don't you think it would be a good idea to show public solidarity with Gaeron if word has gotten out that Tathren threw him over?" Then she lowered her voice, "And Tangon is less likely to challenge him to a duel in front of me."

Gaeron barely stifled a bark of surprise at Morwen's about-face toward him, not to mention her outrageous supposition about his father-in-law. Their mother, however, went a little pale. Whether at the notion of her firstborn perishing at the hands of a merchant from Pelargir or of being the subject of gossip, Morwen couldn't decide.

"Oh, very well." Gwereneth fixed sharp eyes on her son. "But don't take all day — and mind your sister, Gaeron. Who knows where she'll wander off to if she isn't watched."

Morwen considered defending her honor, but shoved Gaeron out the door instead before Gwereneth could change her mind. And before Gaeron could put his foot in his mouth. They trotted halfway across the courtyard before she would let him slow down enough to give her a sardonic frown.

"Now you're on my side all of a sudden?" he muttered.

"It's not a matter of sides," Morwen retorted. "I had to hit Mother on her weakest flank."

"And what's that?"

"Family pride." She cringed up at him. "And her firstborn. She likes you best."

Gaeron shook his head. "What a little schemer you've turned out to be."

"Well, don't let it bother you. I'm still the black sheep even though you've wrecked your marriage in less than a week."

"Thanks for that," he groused. "I'm more bothered that you think my father-in-law wants to split my side open. You're quite the sensationalist."

"Well, mightn't he? I would be the first to knock some sense into you if my daughter came home crying of ill-usage." Then she observed, "The thought disarmed Mother pretty quickly."

Gaeron swallowed. "True, which means she considers it a possibility." He paused, grabbing Morwen's arm to stop her. "Understand that I'm no coward…"

"I've never heard you accused of being one," Morwen agreed. "Though I have heard—"

"Yes, well…perhaps we should hurry to Thengel's. It won't save my marriage if I have to gut Tathren's father in the street."

Morwen gave him an arch smile. "You don't think he stands a chance against you? Mother believes that merchants are barely a step up from corsairs."

Gaeron returned the expression. "I couldn't let him kill me. As a knight of the realm, I have a reputation to maintain. I'd lose face with my peers."

"Yes, I suppose if you died then they'd give all the lush posts to other warriors. How embarrassing."

"Exactly. Let's go."

Morwen agreed that they should hurry and yet she felt a chord of reluctance, too. She'd convinced Thengel of her suitability as a matchmaker. It seemed ill-advised to show up on his doorstep with evidence of her fallibility. Although, the marriage hadn't officially dissolved yet…and no one could blame Morwen for her brother's bullish personality. It was like building a house, she philosophized as Gaeron rushed her along. The structure could only be as sound as the materials used, no matter how good the plans were. She was a matchmaker, not a matchkeeper. She'd try to remember the wording just in case.