A Consolation of Princes
Chapter 9: A Misrule of Mistresses

No answering note from Lady Húnil awaited Morwen when she arrived home, but she chose not to regard that as an issue before nightfall. Gaeron hadn't returned yet either, so the treadwheel of recent events seemed to have halted for the time being.

With nothing else to do, Morwen succumbed to assisting her mother. She was rewarded with finding one error in the order of fabric, which gave Gwereneth the delight of feeling justified for her caution. And it gave the woman a focus for her attention beyond her unsteady children.

Rather than going herself to sort out the missing items, however, Gwereneth sent a servant in her place. Instead, she sat down to a light meal with Morwen while Amarthor took his upstairs with his books. She nearly vibrated with satisfaction at having caught a merchant attempting to cheat her.

"It might have been an honest mistake," Morwen pointed out after listening to her mother vent her spleen for a considerable amount of time.

"You'd be naive to think so. I've never known a merchant to make an honest mistake when it's in his own favor," Gwereneth scoffed. "You see now why I take the precautions that I do? You never know what might be going on right under your very nose. Assume that you'll be cheated and you'll be prepared for every eventuality."

That seemed like a bleaker outlook on life than Morwen preferred, but she replied, "Yes, Mother."

Gwereneth jabbed the air with her knife. "You had better believe I'll remind our merchant friend of this mishap next spring. His isn't the only warehouse in the city so his prices had better reflect his contrition."

"I'm certain he already regrets ever seeing you," Morwen murmured.

Gwereneth sighed contentedly. "So. Did Gaeron get his advice?" she prodded.

Morwen glanced at her father's empty seat, wishing she could get him talking about beavers rather than go down this rabbit hole with her mother. It felt like a violation of Gaeron's privacy.

"He did but I never found out what it was," Morwen answered, hoping that would smother her mother's curiosity. "I received a little advice too."

Gwereneth glanced at Morwen. "Why would you need advice? You never heed any of mine."

"For handling Gaeron." Morwen shrugged before she could stop herself.

"Gaeron's troubles are none of your business, so there's no sense in bothering over them," her mother said but without much heat, too happy at discovering herself being crossed.

Morwen decided to try minding her own business in her bedroom. Her windows overlooked the sunken garden, which now could also be called a sodden garden. The rain had not stopped but it had lightened up.

She retrieved her papers. For a moment, she debated working in oils, but with a smirk, she remembered Sadril's opinions from earlier. The oils went back in their case and the pencils came out. Her sketching had been somewhat neglected, which perhaps explained the disorganization of her own thoughts since undertaking her project on Thengel's behalf. She tried drawing Húnil as Tar-Míriel but had to abandon it. She couldn't create an iteration where the so-called lamentable queen wasn't making unseemly eyes at Ar-Pharazôn, who had developed a perfumed halo. Morwen's ancestors were no doubt spinning in their mausoleums.

Later, there came a knock on the door which made Morwen realize how dark it had grown in the room. She called for whoever stood on the other side of the door to enter while she lit a lamp on the table.

Gaeron let himself in with a tray of tea and little eatables, as well as settings for two. He used his foot to shut the door behind him.

"Where have you been?" Morwen asked, sitting up straighter in her chair.

He gave her a jaundiced look as he joined her by the window, which supplied all the answers she needed.

"What's this?" she asked, gesturing at the tray.

"I missed supper, but I also wanted to talk before you went to bed," he explained. "There's enough for two if you're hungry."

She recognized a bribe. Food did tend to be effective with her. "Thanks."

"You made it home in one piece, I see," Gaeron observed after they'd tucked into the meal. "Sorry for running off. I'm thoughtless lately."

"That's all right. Thengel arranged everything." She helped herself to a roll and the contents of the butter dish.

"That's why I didn't worry too much once I'd realized," he gabbled while he used his fork to smash some roasted carrots into a pulp. "I knew he'd sort it out. You've always been like a little sister to him."

Morwen frowned at that and asked, "Did Tathren agree to see you at least?"

"No," Gaeron admitted glumly.

Morwen stared at him, dropping her roll. "But you ran off hours ago!"

"It took ages just to get into the house," he explained. "They kept turning me away. Once I convinced them I wouldn't budge unless one of them spoke to me, Tangon made me ride down to the Pelennor with him."

"In the rain?"

Gaeron nodded grimly. "In the rain. He didn't say a word the whole time. Utterly miserable."

Morwen tried to imagine this and gave up when it began to feel very uncomfortable. As much as Gaeron had brought this on himself, she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"Did you speak to him at all during the ride?" she asked.

"I did."

"And?"

"I told him that I regretted my behavior toward Tathren and that I wanted to patch things up with her, as Thengel suggested."

"As I suggested first…" she mumbled.

Gaeron carried on without hearing her. "I gabbled to that effect for several hours because I couldn't tell if he had absorbed any of it or not. It must have worn him down eventually because when we returned to their lodgings, he went inside, making it clear he wanted me to wait on the stoop like an errand boy. I stood out there for ages. Just as I decided to give up, a servant brought me a note from Tathren."

Morwen leaned forward. "What did it say?"

"Only that she'll allow me to see her tomorrow."

Morwen gave him a cautious smile. "Well, that's something. Isn't it?"

"Maybe." Gaeron cleared his throat. "I sort of hoped you would come with me to serve as a buffer for her mother since you offered this morning. It's going to be hard enough convincing Tathren to take me back without Renneth hanging around like a buzzard, reminding her that I'm a brute."

Morwen's stomach dropped. "Oh, Gaeron, I would but…I can't tomorrow."

So seldom did her much older brother ask for her help that Morwen felt guilty denying him. But she had committed herself to Thengel's cause. Tomorrow would be the most important day yet.

Gaeron blinked at her. "Why not? Don't tell me you've decided to attend to your housework for once?"

"I'm meeting Lady Húnil," she replied, trying very hard not to make faces at her brother. "We're going to have an outing with Thengel."

Gaeron waved this obstacle away. "Thengel won't care if you postpone it."

"I care," she pressed. "Tomorrow's the last day or I've failed."

"Failed at what?"

Morwen brushed some crumbs around the table with her finger. "I only had a week to find Thengel a wife and—"

"Eh?" Gaeron shoved his small finger into his ear as if to clear it. "Say that again."

"I'm acting as Thengel's matchmaker," she repeated, looking her brother in the eye.

Gaeron looked askance. "Thengel wants to marry? Our Thengel?" He made a face. "And he thinks you can help? Has he gone mad?"

"Does it surprise you that he'd want to marry, too?"

"Well, he's taken his time." Then Gaeron added, "Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time Thengel…" He glanced at Morwen and decided not to finish his sentence. "Anyway, how did you get roped into that? The whole scenario seems highly improbable for him, at least."

"I roped myself into it. Now that you're married I'm finding a wife for him. I promised Thengel on the night of your wedding when he came to visit."

Gaeron looked like he had a case of spontaneous arithmetic. "What was he doing at our house that night? He went out with the rest of our friends."

"He said he wanted to console us now that you were gone. But the real reason for his visit had to do with all of your friends going home early to their families after drinking your health. He's alone and miserable now that you've all abandoned him."

"No, he isn't," Gaeron argued. "Wait…then are you saying you've found someone?"

Morwen nodded. "Thengel has to decide by the end of the day tomorrow if he wants to pursue Húnil romantically. He only gave me a week, so I've had to — Gaeron."

Gaeron's mouth had dropped open, which provided a ghastly sight. He still had a half-chewed bit of dinner in there. Morwen reached over and nudged his chin up. He swallowed without chewing all the way.

"Húnil? Tathren's cousin?" he spluttered once he could speak. "Not on your life, Mora. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I did. I gave me the idea."

"Why on Middle-earth…" He squinted at her. "What do you know about wives anyway?"

Of all the people in Gondor, Morwen would have thought that Gaeron would be the last one who needed to see her credentials.

"I am a woman," she reminded him.

Gaeron looked her up and down, searching for evidence. "Barely," he concluded.

"Well, I introduced you to Tathren."

"I don't remember that."

Morwen bit down a few choice words about her brother's forgetfulness. "Regardless, I think she's perfect for him."

Gaeron shook his head. "Not even a little bit."

"What's wrong with her?" Morwen demanded as she crossed her arms. Then she felt a sliver of guilt. Perhaps she should have asked what was wrong with Thengel. That unfortunate bias in his favor wouldn't shake loose no matter how devoted he'd become to Pelargir in recent years.

"Nothing, only she's as much a sister to him as you are."

Morwen's nose wrinkled at that. "Thengel needs a wife, not a sister. He already has two of those even if he hasn't seen them in twenty years."

"I agree but you're following the wrong scent."

"How so?" Morwen began ticking off traits on her fingers. "Húnil's intelligent, independent, good-humored, experienced in managing an estate, well-connected, rich, and beautiful. She has her own hobbies. She's even an enthusiastic horsewoman." She spread her arms out. "I thought of everything!"

Gaeron pointed his spoon at her. "Yes, but you should probably know that she likes her independence. It's a well-established fact in Tathren's family that Húnil prefers being unmarried."

Morwen scoffed. "Everyone prefers to be unmarried until they meet the person they want to marry. It's my role to help them see it."

"She's rejected no less than five proposals and all from decent fellows with deep pockets," Gaeron told her. "Even if Thengel did develop feelings for her — and he won't — she would likely turn him down."

"Well, I think she's about to change her tune. What's not to like? He's—"

Gaeron gave her a vinegar look reminiscent of their mother. "I know what Thengel's like without you giving me a litany, Mora. Brace yourself to be disappointed. I've been sword brothers with Thengel since you were in swaddling. Current circumstances may not reflect it but I do know a few things about people…especially Thengel people."

Morwen felt her native good humor fraying as her brother poked holes in her ship. "If you know so much, then who do you suggest for a match?"

Gaeron snorted. "I know better than to suggest a who, especially to someone like Thengel. The man doesn't like to be told."

"But Thengel allowed it," she argued. "Telling is the point of a matchmaker."

Gaeron gave her a long look. "Then if I were you, I'd be asking myself why he allowed such a harebrained scheme."

Morwen opened her mouth to retort, but it petered out. "One would think that the answer is obvious."

"You're wasting your time."

Morwen sniffed. "We'll see about that."

"So you'll come with me tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

Morwen threw a piece of her roll at him. "No. Now I've got to make good on my promise to Thengel and prove you wrong."

Gaeron brushed the bread away, looking sour. "You can't push him into anything. Remember, Thengel's a match for you in stiff necks but he has experience and maturity on his side."

"And I have youth and enthusiasm on mine."

"That won't wear him down," Gaeron replied as he collected the remnants of their meal onto the tray. "He knows you too well not to expect all the usual attacks. There aren't enough apples in Gondor or in Rohan to pelt him into marrying Húnil. Mark my words."

"I haven't thrown apples at anyone in years." Then she winced because she'd certainly considered it over the last few days. She needed new methods.

Gaeron gave her a knowing frown. "Goodnight, Mora. If my marriage fails tomorrow because of your doomed quest, I won't hold it against you for too long."

"If it does fail, then you'll be free to marry Thengel yourself and I'll get to wash my hands of both of you," she retorted at the back of him as he exited the room.

"Very amusing. Go to bed, strange child. You have an uphill day tomorrow and so have I." Then he shut the door before she could come up with any more verbal darts.

Once Gaeron left, Morwen thought only of bed. She undressed, worrying that Húnil had not sent a reply to her note. Maybe she didn't think it necessary? Still. Despite her bravado in front of Gaeron, the outing seemed too uncertain. She wanted to gallop time forward to find out how it would turn out. This could not fail, no matter what her brother had to say.

As she got into bed, Morwen reflected that at this time next year, she might be back in the city for another wedding if her genius wasn't cursed. Perhaps Húnil would make her a bridesmaid out of gratitude for her efforts? The thought gave her a sudden flash of misery that managed to escape from the tangle of emotion that she had until recently kept coolly squashed. She needed Thengel officially out of reach for this very reason, even if it made her own future look very bleak and uninteresting.

Morwen went through the plan again in her head. Meet Húnil at her home on the way to the stables where Thengel would join them. Ride down to the Pelennor. Impress Thengel with Húnil's horsemanship while serving as a sharp contrast. Accidentally fall behind to give the lovers privacy. Die a little on the inside for the greater good.

She would have to find a place to abandon her charges, of course. Perhaps a barn would present itself for her to wander into by happy accident. Maybe there would be an attractive plowman to flirt with to help the time go by. She didn't know how long it would take Thengel to come to the point with Húnil. Judging by his behavior at the reception, he seemed to take a long view of life so Morwen couldn't count on it going quickly. Perhaps she should pack a pillow and blanket in case it necessitated spending the night in a hay loft — without the plowman.

…

The sun returned the next morning, removing the weather from the list of potential obstacles. Morwen dressed quickly into riding clothes and nearly collided with Gaeron in the passage on her way out of the house. He was on his way to find breakfast. When he learned that she meant to walk to Húnil's home on her own, he made her wait for him to get ready so he could go with her.

"I planned to wait until after Tathren's family had breakfast," he grumbled after reappearing from his chambers. "It's probably something meatless with no cheer."

"You don't have to walk me," Morwen insisted as they descended the stairs together. "Go eat."

"Yes, I do. What are you thinking of, trying to go alone?"

"It's only one circle," Morwen argued. She'd been back and forth so many times since they'd first arrived in the city that she seriously doubted the need for an escort every time she stepped so much as a toe beyond the family gate. "How much trouble could I get into?"

"I shudder to think."

They took a more leisurely pace now that Gaeron wasn't worried for his life. Still, Morwen's heart pounded away in her chest for a reason she couldn't quite discover. Despite the fresh air, the gentle morning light, and the rain-washed streets…something felt not quite right.

They passed Tathren's house.

"Are you sure — " Gaeron began, half reaching for her arm.

Morwen realized now why her brother insisted on escorting her. He wanted a second chance to persuade her to help him distract Renneth. He looked like he had a mind to throw her over his shoulder and march her inside as he'd done countless times in her youth. She backed away.

"Quite sure." She decided to shut him up by putting him on his toes. "You know, it surprises me that you want Thengel to die alone."

Gaeron stopped short and gaped at her. "What? I never said that."

"Then how come you're trying to talk me out of my outing with him?"

Gaeron grabbed her by the elbow and walked onward. "Because it's a fool's errand, that's why."

"You may be eating your words in a few hours."

"With any luck, I'll be eating a good roast," he muttered. "Don't worry. When you realize how wrong you are, I'll take the high road."

"Don't bother. I'm already up there."

They marched the short distance to Húnil's lodgings, reiterating much of what had been said the evening before. Morwen rejoiced in the one fact that she'd now so thoroughly annoyed her brother that he ceased to want her around.

"Well, this is her place," he said when they reached the gate. "Good luck. You'll need it."

"You'll need it more where you're going," she retorted.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Mora." Gaeron gave her a look, then turned back the way they came.

Morwen watched him go with a feeling of deep annoyance before entering through the gate. Then she squared her shoulders and approached the front doors. A slab-faced footman answered the bell. He blinked once at her, then once over his shoulder.

Facing her again, he said, "I'm afraid my mistress is not at home —"

"Yes, she is," Morwen waved away his words. "Lady Húnil may not be at home to others but she has an appointment with me today. You would have received a letter for her yesterday confirming it."

"Ah…" the footman glanced up at the ceiling. "There was a letter…but…"

"If she isn't ready yet, I am happy to wait," she replied with the air of someone who intended to become irremovable.

The footman blinked at Morwen. "Er. This way, my lady."

He led Morwen down a series of passages toward the back of the house, ushering her through a door that opened into a shaded atrium stuffed to bursting with wisteria. She blinked up at the flowers, which dripped yesterday's rain onto her forehead. This isn't what she'd expected. Most people met their guests in a drawing room.

"Is Lady Húnil out here?" she inquired.

The footman hesitated. "No, lady. Please enjoy the flowers while I will fetch her…directly."

Morwen watched him disappear trying not to give too much credit to her impression that his final statement held no conviction. Something wasn't right.

She looked around her. The property included an enormous garden relative to most private outdoor spaces in Minas Tirith. At the end of the breezeway, a circular terrace opened up to the sunlight. Beyond that, old fig trees circled the terrace in ever-expanding ripples supported by raised beds. They provided ample shade with their broad arms.

With nothing better to do, Morwen decided to inspect the trees for early fruit while she waited for Húnil. She didn't like the idea of being caught twiddling her thumbs. The reason might have had something to do with her mother, who couldn't bear for anyone around her to be idle.

As she entered the shade, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. An absolute silence lay over the garden. Not even the sound of pigeons could be heard. She didn't need a hunter like Gaeron to tell her that something watched her from deeper within the shadows.

Swallowing, she glanced up. Yellow eyes set in a pristine black face gleamed at her from the upper branches of the oldest fig. The cat's relish dish ears pinned forward. Morwen had observed far too many of their barn cats stalk mice and birds to mistake the signs.

Morwen backed slowly away, just a step or two back into the sunlight before pausing. She kept her eyes on Nahtar.

"I know you're there," she told him. "So there's no sense in creeping around."

Nahtar slinked along the branch, leaping onto another. Morwen's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't seen him move so fast before. She would have been grateful for the languid creature she'd met in Renneth's garden.

Nahtar halted on a branch, lowering his belly down but his hips and shoulders remained raised and taut. Ready. It was no use wondering if he wanted to play or hunt. She had yet to meet a cat where the two weren't the same thing.

"Cats rarely attack humans, you know." She took a step backward. His tail flicked. "On the hierarchy of eatables, I'm higher than you…so…."

Nahtar's relish dish ears twitched to the sides before pinning forward again. That appeared to be news to him. And currently, anyway, he held the high ground.

"Nor do I have any dried sardines or liver on me…so why not stay right where you are…"

Morwen took several steps backward, which threw his tail flicking rhythmically almost like one of those charmed snakes she'd read about in Harad. A sure sign that he either felt interested or irritated. Maybe he only felt aggravated by her trespassing.

Morwen held up her hands, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone had come to get her yet. At least she'd gotten closer to the breezeway. "I'll get out of your territory in a moment. Promise…"

No sign of Húnil or anyone else. Which probably meant that nobody knew to come looking for her except the slab-faced footman. And he had clearly forgotten about her. Nahtar began winding up his haunches.

"See here, Nahtar," she said sharply, trying a different tack. "You can't have me for breakfast this morning. I have an appointment to keep. Oh…stars!"

The cat's muscles contracted as he prepared to leap. Morwen spun away just in time to feel the cat's muscular flank buffet her shoulder before he landed in the carefully trimmed shrubs behind her. Once she regained her balance, she made a dash for the breezeway.

Morwen heard the scrape of nails on the paving stones even as she flung the door open and let herself in. She slammed it behind her in time to feel Nahtar ram against the solid wood. Her fingers scrambled for a latch to safely lock the door.

Heart racing from the encounter with Nahtar and the knowledge that they would be late to meet Thengel, Morwen took only a moment to catch her breath and steady herself. Her legs felt like jelly but she felt determined to go in search of Húnil herself. The ground floor seemed strangely deserted of servants anyway. The unhelpful and possibly murderous footman had disappeared completely.

Though Morwen had been in the house once, Húnil had led her straight to the second floor where the cats were penned, so she didn't know the exact layout of the house. She decided to start with the sitting room. Unless the woman had taken Thengel's architect's point of view, the room would certainly be found on the east side of the house. With only a slight tremor in her hands and knees, she retraced her steps down several passages. While deciding which direction to take from the several that presented themselves, she thought she heard something like the scrape of a table leg against the floor. She took off in the direction of the sound until she came to a set of double doors. The drawing room, certainly. One of the doors stood slightly ajar.

Morwen let herself in only to walk into darkness. She blinked while her eyes adjusted. The furniture, which consisted of very old-fashioned high-backed sofas and chairs, had been grouped into several clusters on either side of a large fireplace, situated under two massive windows. The curtains were drawn, which meant that the only light available to her had spilled in through the passage.

Morwen could see no one. With the curtains drawn, it looked as though the servants hadn't even properly attended to the room yet. It was a waste of good sunlight.

Uncertain of what to do yet simultaneously possessed by her mother's housekeeping instincts, Morwen crept a few steps deeper into the gloomy space toward a window where she meant to take care of the curtains herself. Something on the floor near the sofa caught her eye. It looked like a boot. Morwen walked toward it.

Then she heard a sound that reminded her very much of Húnil's demonstration at the dinner party a few days earlier.

"Nahtar?" she whispered as she approached the back of the sofa, wondering how the cat could have gotten inside some other way and beaten her to the sitting room.

But instead of Nahtar, she found Húnil locked in an interesting embrace with a gentleman. It was hard to recognize him from his bare back alone, but she eventually identified Lord Serion by scent. Only he could smell like a well-groomed if underdressed stoat. Whatever they were doing made the sofa lurch and the legs scrape against the floor again. Morwen froze long enough for them to notice her. Then she beat a hasty retreat from the room.

"Front door," she barked to the footman who had finally materialized at the opposite end of the passage.

He seemed to understand perfectly.

"This way, lady," he answered.

They hadn't progressed very far when Morwen heard her name called. She stopped and turned slowly as if tar had moored her feet to the floor. Húnil marched toward her, looking stunned but determined. Her color heightened, she gripped her housecoat closed as she strode down the corridor.

"Wait a moment, please," Húnil said. Then at the crossroads between passages, she nodded toward the right. "This way."

Húnil passed Morwen, who followed her reluctantly down a few doors into a library. That provided another first for Morwen. She normally loved to walk into a room full of books, especially the kind that required ladders. But now she heartily wished she'd gone with Gaeron to his miserable in-laws. She knew for certain that with the rift between them, Gaeron and Tathren would not be found abusing the furniture this late in the morning.

Once Morwen crossed the threshold, Húnil shut the door and gestured toward the furniture in an unspoken invitation to sit. Morwen winced at the sofa, unable to unsee Serion.

"Morwen…I'm shocked. So sorry. I had no idea you were coming by…"

This marked the first time Morwen had ever seen her friend ruffled. Yes, it had been a short acquaintance, but she felt surprised. Húnil's character seemed so open to immediate interpretation and completely unflappable.

"But we arranged for our outing with Thengel — er, Lord Thengel." Morwen tried to shake her mother's voice out of her head. "I sent a note yesterday," she ended lamely. "The footman said you'd received it."

Húnil blinked up at the ceiling. "Oh…I remember now." She patted down her hair. "I'm afraid I got carried away…"

And she had carried Serion right along with her, Morwen thought. A lump had lodged in her throat. She tried to swallow around it but found it very difficult.

"But what about Thengel?" she asked, sounding choked.

"What about him?" Húnil looked concerned in an artless way.

Morwen held her hand out, gesturing toward the world at large. "You danced with him. We had an engagement for today…"

The corner of Húnil's mouth puckered as if she were chewing on it while she thought. "I suppose if you can give me a moment to get ready, but…" she looked longingly at the door.

Morwen steeled herself to be candid since her first attempt had been too vague. "Húnil, how can you closet yourself with Serion when you're meant to spend the day with Thengel?"

"I don't see how that enters into it," she answered, genuinely confused.

"But…don't you have any feelings for Thengel at all?"

Húnil laughed, then covered her mouth. "Oh…you were serious." She pressed her fingers to her chin. "Are you saying that you believed Thengel and I…."

Morwen bunched her skirts with her fingers. "That was the whole point of this week — the point of this outing today."

Húnil's expression turned blank. "But I only agreed to go because you clearly needed a chaperone who wasn't your mother."

Now Morwen blinked at her. "Pardon me?"

Húnil patted Morwen's shoulder. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Morwen gaped at her for a moment before remembering herself. "No! I intended to chaperone you and Thengel. And then I planned to lose you somewhere so that you could declare your love today."

"Hogwash." Húnil gave her a knowing look. "Young lady, no one can get a word in with Thengel let alone a declaration whenever you are in his presence. And while I feel perfectly happy to assist you in a tryst with the heir of Rohan, I am not inclined that way myself."

Morwen blushed furiously. "But it's not my tryst."

Húnil's eyebrow arched. "Isn't it?"

"No, it was supposed to be yours."

Húnil's brow furrowed. "But I clearly understood Thengel to be in love with you. I admit I enjoyed teasing him about it during the reception the other day. He spent the whole time talking about you."

"Me?" Morwen frowned. "But I swear you were flirting with him."

Húnil shook her head. "Well, we have gotten our bobbins crossed, haven't we?"

She walked away from Morwen toward a credenza. Several bottles containing amber liquids stood next to a set of tumblers. She unstoppered one of the bottles and poured its contents into two of the glasses.

She said, "I could have sworn you only wanted me around to help get you both out from under your mother in a respectable way. Happy to help, of course, but…em…not in the manner you are thinking."

Húnil returned to Morwen's side, offering her a glass. Morwen sniffed its contents and immediately felt the inside of her nose burn. She let Húnil lead her to a set of chairs near the empty fireplace.

"Sit. Drink," Húnil ordered. "You've had a shock. Frankly, so have I."

Morwen obeyed. Whatever she'd been given contained so much alcohol that it erased the flavor before the liquid could reach her tongue. But it did have a blessed numbing effect after a moment of fire. After she drained half of it, she began to feel like her old self again…but like her old self if someone had stuffed her head inside a pillow.

"May I ask you one impertinent question?" she asked with some concentrated effort.

Húnil snorted pleasantly. "Please do."

Morwen clutched the glass to her chest. "What does Serion have that Thengel doesn't?"

"It's rather the other way around," Húnil said with a clap of laughter. "Serion has no restraint. It's delicious. I'm so glad you introduced us. It feels fated somehow."

"Oh, stars." Morwen cursed her dark genius and wished she hadn't asked after all. Although, despite the blush that especially vexed her since she entered the house, she thought she could see Húnil's point. Serion made Thengel appear very stayed and aggravatingly complacent. And his refusal to grasp even the most basic concepts of modern courtship had allowed Serion to sail into Húnil's arms.

Like Eledhwen gazing upon Cabed Naeramarth, Morwen recognized defeat.

She rose, feeling a rush of heat rise with her. She set the glass of liquid fire down on a little table. "I had better go. Thengel will be wondering where we are by now."

"I can still accompany you…once I've thrown on some fresh clothes," Húnil told her with only a thread of reluctance in her voice.

Morwen noticed her friend's glance toward the door that lead to the hallway that lead to the room where her lover probably had stretched himself out on a sofa in a provocative manner — if the formulas still meant anything in these strange times.

She hung her head. "There's no point now."

"Are you so sure? Serion can probably spare me for a few hours to chaperone you." She made an odd face. "In fact, he might need a rest."

Morwen winced. "How long has he been here?"

"Since yesterday when he returned my combs," Húnil replied, her gaze looking a little vague as if she remembered something pleasant but unsuitable for a library setting.

Morwen's mouth popped open but she snapped it shut before Húnil noticed. Since yesterday! No wonder the woman never replied to the letter. Morwen had been thwarted by a set of combs before the day began.

Húnil rose too. "I wouldn't want to disappoint Thengel by not allowing you to show up. He's a dear old thing. Ecthelion's very fond of him. I've always wondered why he hasn't been happily settled before now." Her eyes twinkled with good humor again. "Now that I've met you I can guess the source of the delay."

Morwen's lips pressed into a thin line before she said, "You are mistaken, Lady Húnil. I am not a candidate. And I have the letter to prove it, " she added hastily when Húnil looked ready to argue the point.

Her friend blinked. "What letter?"

"The one where he refused an invitation to visit me," Morwen explained.

Húnil smiled knowingly. "People refuse invitations for many reasons, my girl."

"Yes," Morwen grumbled. "In this instance, because he felt his duty in Pelargir outweighed any friendly obligations to me."

"Is that what he said?"

"He implied it," Morwen insisted. "When asked, he said that the port still needed defending even if I came of age."

Húnil snorted. "Oh, my dear, that's a statement, not a reason. It sounds to me like he wanted to dodge the truth."

Morwen blinked. What could Thengel possibly not want to tell her in the middle of a large group of people who weren't paying them any attention all that much? They'd been friends for ages. He could tell her anything.

"You can wait here while I change," Húnil continued. "It'll only be a moment."

Morwen stiffened her spine. "Don't trouble yourself. In fact, you might want to give some attention to Nahtar. He's in the garden and I can say from experience that he's looking for breakfast."

Húnil's mouth popped open. "Escaped again, did he?" she looked Morwen up and down. "You have had adventures this morning."

"Yes, and now I intend to go home to avoid any more," she muttered.

Rather, she would give Thengel the bad news and then she would go sensibly home. Otherwise, he'd wait at the stables for ages while it slowly dawned on him that he'd been jilted. She'd spend the whole day feeling sorry for him. At least if she told him to his face that Húnil had jilted him then she could also tell him that he only had himself to blame.

"Are you sure?" Húnil asked.

"Quite sure. I'm sorry I interrupted your…well, good morning."

Morwen let herself out of the library. In a direct revolt against all of her feelings, she proceeded out of the house in a stately manner as if she were participating in the changing of the citadel guard. When she didn't think anyone from the house would see her, she picked up her skirts and ran.