A Consolation of Princes II: A Revolt of Kings
Chapter 6: A Flurry of Favors

Morwen found Thengel shortly after a second attempt to talk her mother down. It had failed just like the first time in her father's library. Perhaps Gwereneth matched Fengel in stubbornness. Or maybe Morwen felt too torn between agreeing with her mother regarding Fengel's negligence while sympathizing with Thengel to act effectively. She did feel that he deserved better consideration from his remaining parent. She also knew Thengel would rather invite the Brotherhood of Corsairs to the wedding than the king.

When Morwen could get away, she joined him in the dooryard. He stood watching his kinsmen disappear into Gwereneth's flower gardens to stretch their legs. She wondered why he had stayed behind.

When he didn't turn, she hugged Thengel from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. "Remember me? I'm the woman everyone talked about today but rarely spoke to."

Thengel gripped her wrist, gently pulling her around to his side where he held her tight with one arm. He said nothing.

Morwen glanced up to see Thengel's expression. He looked grim still. So she grumbled, "Aren't you going to shake my hand? I felt left out earlier."

Thengel thawed a little, giving her the side eye. "Handshakes are for fathers-in-law. Kisses are for brides."

"What are you waiting for then?" she teased. "A formal invitation on my father's stationery?"

"Rascal." He inclined his head, his beard pleasantly brushing her chin as their lips met. He might look grave, but he felt relaxed. Something pleasant coiled in her belly when he let go of her arm to cup both sides of her face. Her fingers bunched the fabric of his tunic. The tip of his tongue skimmed suggestively across her bottom lip…

The sound of tapping on glass interrupted them and made them step apart. They glanced at the upper-story windows overlooking the yard to see Gwereneth give them a reproving frown before disappearing deeper into her sitting room.

"Are you going to stand for that?" Morwen rasped. She swallowed against the tendril of something his kiss had created.

Thengel seemed to be wrestling with himself. He scowled up at the window again. "Not forever."

Then she said, "I'm sorry about Mother."

His brow rose as he looked at her. "For which transgression?" While Morwen tried to sort that out from the growing list, Thengel added, "I regret agreeing to your arrangement to live only a third of the year in Minas Tirith. Even Arnach is too near your mother."

"Will Edoras be far enough for you one day?" she asked.

Thengel's eyes rolled upward. "It will have to be."

Morwen felt guilty, though even with her lion's share of audacity, she wouldn't have considered suggesting that the king should attend the wedding. Neither she nor Thengel could have anticipated that Gwereneth's finely honed sense of propriety would lead to this. She worried about the effect it would have on Thengel and she could see that he already looked troubled.

"I did try to talk her out of any schemes to get your Father here," she soothed.

Thengel shook his head. "There's no point, Morwen."

"But what if she succeeds?"

"She won't."

Morwen took in the deep set of his brow and the trace of a frown that she couldn't seem to budge no matter how hard she tried. "You look upset for a man who sounds so certain."

"Your mother's efforts will fail. Still, she flagrantly disregarded my will in the matter." Thengel looked up dolefully at the sky. "A trait she now shares with Fengel King — one I don't appreciate."

A tendril of apprehension rose in her throat. "You know…" She wrinkled her nose. "Húnil wouldn't have put you through this — Thengel!"

She yelped as he bent downward suddenly and hugged her around the hips, hoisting her upward to dangle over his shoulder with a speed she'd never witnessed in him before. He carried her around the back of the house past the barns and sheds, out of sight of his cousins and her mother's sitting room, while she began to feel like a sack of potatoes again.

"What are you doing?" she called as best she could while his shoulder pressed the air from her stomach. She tried to look up at him through the curtain of her hair.

"Let's have no more mentions of Húnil in this lifetime, if you please. I'm promised to another woman and it upsets my delicate sensibilities."

"Oh." Then, "I'll leave the upsetting to my mother from now on," Morwen promised. She received a jostling when he only narrowly avoided a rabbit hole obscured by the grass. "Is this treatment necessary?"

"It always worked in the past."

Well, true. And yet. "If I can't draw silly pictures of you because you're going to be a king, then you can't haul me off like I'm still in pigtails," she reprimanded breathlessly. "I'm going to be a queen, you know." She poked his back in emphasis. "My crown will fall off."

Thengel snorted at her reasoning, but he did stop and set her down. They regarded one another while she brushed the hair from her eyes. Conveniently, he'd stopped near the path leading into the wooded hills, she noted.

"Mother means well," Morwen observed as she straightened her clothes next. "In her brutal way, she's attempting to champion us."

Thengel made a guttural sound in his throat. "By riding us down along with Fengel? I see where you came by your methods."

"How dare you," she scolded, though laughing because he wasn't wrong. "Mother did all the heavy lifting this afternoon. I'm not even sure why I had to be at the meeting. I had nothing to do."

"That's untrue," he countered. "You needed to consent. And your presence proved to the witnesses that you are both alive and real. They need to know what you look like if there's hoodwinking at the wedding."

Morwen's mouth popped open. "Hoodwinking?"

The corner of Thengel's mouth lifted in an urchin manner. "Oh yes. Kidnappings. False brides. That sort of thing." He added dryly, "It should satisfy your modern notions of courtship."

Indeed. That sounded like a job for an enormous pin. "Interesting that you're only bringing this up after the bargain's been struck," she observed.

Thengel smirked. "It's strategy, my girl."

"Are false brides often a problem in the Mark?" she asked.

Thengel winked at her, seeming more like himself again. "We have some old legends and superstitions. Let's simply say that there's a reason women in my homeland wear bridal wreaths rather than veils."

Morwen covered her mouth. "Remind me to have a wardrobe discussion with my mother later on," she mumbled.

Thengel stiffened, having seen something beyond her. Morwen looked around and saw Huna and one of Thengel's cousins enter the rose garden from the back of the house. It reminded her of one of the more uncomfortable moments during the negotiation that didn't involve her mother.

Morwen pulled Thengel away before his countrymen could engage him. She dragged him along at a steady clip until they reached what the neighborhood referred to as the new coppice with its whiskery trees. The foresters would be home by now and anybody else approaching them from this portion of the wood could be easily seen through gaps in the thin poles. With the house full, the coppice offered a little refuge for privacy.

"I'm confused," she stated as they walked along. "Why did Huna negotiate for you?"

"It may surprise you to learn that my father is an important person," he teased.

"Hm."

"Important people rarely speak for themselves at formal events." He paused when they startled a squirrel in their path and waited for it to scamper away. "It's our privilege…and a nuisance."

Morwen laughed. "Especially when you're stuck translating for the person who's supposed to be speaking for you. How silly."

"It is silly," he sighed. "But that's how it would have gone in Edoras too…well, without the need for translation."

Morwen stopped him beneath a tall thicket of hornbeam poles. "At the risk of being thrown over your shoulder again, I will point out that choosing a girl from the Mark would have been more convenient then. You should have thought of that before falling in love with me."

Thengel's expression turned blank.

"What have I said?" she asked.

"Nothing of great moment," he answered wryly. "Since nothing can be changed now."

She rubbed his arm. "Then all those formal words and handshakes have come to good use already. You're stuck with me."

"Which follows that you're stuck with me."

Morwen pleated the fabric of his sleeve between her fingers, remembering her earlier question. "Thengel, I want to —"

"— kiss me again?" he interjected. His arms encased her. "Assuming your mother doesn't have her eyes on us in the woods too."

Morwen's mind temporarily hiccuped. "That goes without saying, but that's not what I meant," she said, putting some distance between them so that he couldn't sweep away the few remaining crumbs of her wit. "I want to talk to you about earlier, so don't distract me."

Thengel's arms fell away. "As you wish."

"What did you skirmish over with Huna during all of those speeches?"

Thengel gripped one of the nearby hornbeam poles, rubbing his thumb over the bark, staring at it with undue interest. "It's the same drivel as the empty trunk. Fengel wanted to spread some venom."

When he didn't offer an example, she asked, "What venom?"

"It doesn't signify. Ultimately, the council desires this marriage to take place so they can stop having nightmares about the end of Eorl's line," he explained. "Even Father has to submit to the facts. He couldn't unearth any actual objections against you as a bride. However, Huna felt that as the king's mouthpiece, he had an obligation to deliver the king's remark verbatim."

Morwen's heart lodged in her throat. She didn't know why. Fengel had nothing to find nor did she care about his opinion. But it still made her feel uncomfortably exposed. "He tried?"

Thengel looked at her. "Does that surprise you?"

Morwen caught herself squeezing her fingers, a sign of nerves. She shoved her hands into the new pockets she'd sewn in her dress to keep from fidgeting.

"Well yes, in that it's not how I would choose to behave." Then she asked, "What were these immaterial objections then?"

"I prefer you didn't ask," he said quietly.

Morwen crossed her arms. "Too late."

Thengel hesitated, then said, "Fengel questioned the suitability of bringing a woman descended from an elven sorceress into the House of Eorl."

"Sorceress!" Morwen had never heard Mithrellas accused of that before.

"Understand, he views all Elves as spell-weavers," Thengel said grimly. "The Rohirrim are wary of the slightest whiff of magic."

Morwen couldn't help herself. The more she considered this objection, the more absurd it seemed until she laughed. "Well, you know I haven't got a shred of magic to my name." She shook her head. "Besides, who can say if that old story's even true?"

"So I told Huna."

"I fail to see how that bit of family lore would make you so cross with him."

Thengel shrugged, not quite meeting her eye. She almost overlooked it, except for the little part of her that had known him far too long to mistake when he was avoiding something. Truly, why would it upset him to repeat back to her family that Fengel thought they were descended from an Elf maiden? Despite the unusual ears that plagued Morwen, that bit of heritage had turned into more of a family tall tale rather than a highly regarded fact.

Morwen's mouth fell open as she saw light and understood Thengel's strategy. She could only assume that he'd dangled a less inflammatory fact in front of her as a distraction from the rest of his father's vitriol. And it had almost worked on her as a carrot might to lure Vanyaroco.

"What else?" she demanded. "I want to hear the worst objection that your father leveled at me."

Thengel regarded her through baleful eyes. "Why would you want that?"

"You won't tell me verbatim what the king charged Huna to relate?" she asked when he remained tight-lipped.

"No."

Morwen felt at a loss for a moment. She couldn't force Thengel to explain. It puzzled her that he felt so reluctant. It only made it worse to be left in the dark. Was it possible to be already at cross purposes within only an hour of their betrothal? At this rate, they might be in a position to break Gaeron's record for falling out.

"Has it occurred to you that I wish to know what's happening around me?" she angled.

Thengel reached out, gripping her shoulder. "Has it occurred to you that I'm going to protect you from my family until the day I die?"

Morwen crossed her arms, waiting while Thengel studied her face. She hoped she looked unbudgeable.

He rubbed his forehead. "The language barrier provided one advantage. It allowed me to winnow out Fengel's more colorful expressions, even if translating all afternoon made tedious work." He glanced at her. "We need to navigate that moving forward."

"You know I'm willing to learn — "

"Morwen, you already speak two languages fluently and a smattering of a third," he pointed out. "And if I recall correctly, you were a scourge to your tutors."

Morwen felt affronted by this accusation. "Find me a tutor well versed in your language who won't insist it's useless to instruct women and I'll promise to cease scourging them," she announced with a vehemence that surprised both of them.

Morwen hadn't realized the depth of her resentment after properly burying it for several years. She felt badly for snapping at Thengel. It wasn't his fault. But now that she knew she would be married to a king, she only felt how badly she had needed that education from someone who hadn't felt like it was an exercise in futility.

Thengel gave her an odd look as if weighing how to best counter her sudden waspishness. "Which tutor told you that?"

"Which tutor didn't?" she cried. "It's common opinion among the masters in Minas Tirith that creatures doomed to become wives and mothers don't require knowledge. They were only humoring Father because he had paid so well for Gaeron's education in the past but they all knew I'd just get married and squander my education."

"Did you report this insulting behavior to Amarthor?"

"I did. The first time I mentioned it, Father agreed with the tutor." She paused to blink away some suspicious moisture developing around her eyes. Rarely did she get worked up over her father —benign, bumbling creature that he was. But he had left her feeling undefended and belittled. "He said customarily the princes of Dol Amroth educated their daughters alongside their sons, so he'd felt compelled to do the same. Lucky me."

"Where was I that you never said a word about it until now?"

Morwen's head dipped to the side while she waited for him to narrow down the possibilities.

Thengel grimaced. "Pelargir?"

"Or its environs," she drawled. "Give a point to the horse master."

He pursed his lips at her tone, but she felt justified for giving in to some waspishness. There was a gap in time in their knowledge of each other in the years when he'd been hiding away, which they hadn't sufficiently discussed before now. She knew he'd been harassing corsairs but he didn't know what she's been up to outside of arranging Gaeron's love life — and he only had himself to blame for that.

"The tutors are long gone," he said. "So I guess you managed."

Morwen nodded. "When I couldn't stand it anymore, I told Father that the House of Belfalas was irrelevant according to the lore masters so I'd been allowed to skip its history."

Thengel exclaimed at the falsehood. "Let me guess, Amarthor dismissed the lot of them without question."

"None asked or answered." Morwen tried to bite back a satisfied grin but failed. She hadn't felt sorry for them at all.

"So after running your tutors out of the valley, you were left to be as ignorant as you liked?"

Morwen smirked. "Let's say as ignorant as most of Father's books would allow."

"Gaeron would argue that you're just getting married," Thengel said self-consciously.

"He'd be wrong, as usual. You must admit it's sort of like getting a vocation, too." She raised her chin. "I intend to take queening very seriously."

Thengel smiled. "Béma."

"So you'll just have to see about that tutor then," she insisted, tapping his arm.

Thengel licked the corner of his mouth, glancing through the trees. "There's another solution."

"Teach the Rohirrim the Common Speech?" Morwen quipped. When he didn't react, she stared at him. "Teach the Rohirrim the Common Speech…"

"The Rohirrim are too insular," he preambled. "Most can't communicate with anyone beyond the realm. It's time for that to change." His expression turned grim. "After what we've learned from Bard's ministers, I deem we haven't seen the last of the need for the Oath. As in Folcwine's day, the need for clear communication is key between Gondor and the Mark"

"Why? Do you intend to send herders on diplomatic missions to Dale?" she asked.

"Saucebox," he sighed. "I don't mean the entire country."

"What do you propose then?"

Thengel rubbed the back of his neck. "Alter the language of the court."

Morwen hadn't expected him to say that. "Do you believe that it can be changed?"

"Yes…with time. Most of the realms of Men and Elves, even the Dwarves speak the Common Tongue. It's not a leap too far."

"And you think the Rohirrim are willing to leap?"

Thengel chuckled darkly. "Not a bit." Then he sighed. "You know, Morwen, in the west country the wetlands have grown and shifted in their beds over the years. But there are some folk who will wade up to their shins in dirty fen water instead of seeking dry ground because their grandsires had footpaths there since the days when Eorl led our people south."

"So you're saying we'll be well-regarded for this new policy?"

"There's going to be grumblers no matter what. I'm no longer the young man who left home after all. Gondor's as much in my blood as Rohan. The people will feel it." His gaze turned long and he seemed to be frowning down the length of years. "Frankly, so will I. Some will accuse me of being the Steward's puppet."

Morwen saw light in an instant whether Thengel intended for her to or not. "Is that what you're father's telling your people?"

Thengel froze. Then he sighed. "So my cousins say."

Morwen stepped closer, invading his personal space so that he had to look her in the eye instead of studying the hornbeam. "And is Fengel telling them that I'm a tool for that purpose?"

"Yes."

Morwen's eyes rounded till the skin around them felt tight. "And now you're going to bring home a woman with a toehold still in Gondor, as well as force them to use the Common Speech in your court…all of which will corroborate the story that Turgon's installing a Gondorian monarch in Calenardhon."

"Yes."

Morwen touched her heart. "And they're going to pin the blame on me."

"Undoubtedly a few conspiratorial folk will draw that conclusion."

Morwen closed her eyes, allowing the scenario to play out in her mind's eye. It seemed to her that in breaking the financial stranglehold that Fengel had placed on the negotiation, they had possibly provided him the means to make more mischief with their marriage.

Well. Perhaps challenges were the spice of life. Morwen opened her eyes. "Fine."

"Fine?" Thengel stepped back as if he expected to hear anything but that. "It's not fine."

"I'll win them over." She shivered. "Even if it means learning to gallop on a horse — or turn into a shieldmaiden or deliver an éored of sons or…"

"That won't be necessary — any of it," Thengel insisted. "I'll correct anyone subscribing to Father's false notions without the need for extreme measures or grand gestures."

But Morwen excelled at grand gestures and extreme measures. She had an inspiration. "If the people blame me, as your father intends, then maybe that will take some of the heat off of you."

"What heat?"

"Well, the heat for being Turgon's supposed puppet." She added, "And you must admit, you've left them alone with Fengel for a very long time while attending to Gondor's defenses."

Thengel nodded grimly. "Some of my cousins do blame me for not being around to offset his churlishness."

"See? That's where I can help," she said stoutly. "The people might even feel sorry for you being stuck with some unhinged Gondorian sorceress."

"No one could accuse you of being a sorceress," Thengel pointed out.

Morwen wasn't listening to him as she began to pace. "Then after you've gotten their sympathy, I'll win them over." She struck her fist against her other palm. "With brute force if necessary."

And by brute force, she meant forcing them all to eat orange cakes with her until they succumbed. She needed to work out how to keep the kitchens of Meduseld stocked with citrus. It might be a dearly purchased route to popularity, but then, she now had first-hand knowledge of how deep Thengel's pockets were. Doubtless, he could afford to build her an orangery somewhere on that giant outcrop his family called home.

"Have a care, Morwen. That sounds like your evil genius at work…and I doubt it will succeed."

"Why? I won you over," she said over her shoulder.

"You didn't have to win me over," he groused. "I love you."

Morwen gripped his forearm as she returned to his side. "No, I mean at first. Don't you remember in the beginning when you met Gaeron and he brought you to our home in the city that winter? You were so standoffish."

Thengel considered those memories for a moment. "As the youngest of my family, I wasn't used to being around small children and I had my own difficult upbringing to contend with."

Morwen's nose wrinkled as she grinned over a memory. "We had the same vocabulary. You were still learning the Common Speech and Elvish." She laughed. "And so was I."

Thengel grinned reluctantly. "And I recall you spoke with an accent briefly after that first winter." He chuckled. "Your mother wasn't pleased." He sliced the air with his hand. "At all."

"That was your fault," she felt happy to point out. "But I still made you become friends with me."

"So you did. How could I resist when you kept chucking wooden toys at my head or popping out from behind furniture when your nurse thought you were in bed?" He began counting on his fingers. "How many nurses did you go through before your parents gave up and let you run wild?"

"Eight. Don't scoff. You weren't sent to Gondor for being a model child." A new terrible thought struck her. "Thengel, what if our children are just like us?"

"Drown them, I expect."

She gaped at him.

"No?" He shrugged. "Well. I suppose we might send them to Uncle Gaeron to sort out."

"I'm not sure I can condone that." Morwen shook her head. "Is it too late to back out now?"

A wolfish expression crossed Thengel's face. "There's a dozen spearmen who would say yes."

"I feared that might be the case. Then perhaps I should congratulate you on a successful marriage negotiation. Sorry about Mother."

He reached for her hand. "Make it up to me?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "With a handshake or…?"

He leaned over and kissed her rather than explain. Morwen surrendered to him. But the kiss could only go so far and she began to feel that four and a half months would pass by with painful slowness — at least when it concerned kisses.

Unfortunately, four and a half months would fly by when it concerned her project. Now that the negotiations were over, the sands of time would move at a clip. With some reluctance, she extricated herself from Thengel.

"Since we have to go through with the marriage after all, I must attend to my side of the bargain," she explained as she began to slip away down the path. "I'll see you at the wedding."

He caught up and grasped her arm before she could walk off any farther. "Beforehand too, I hope."

"That will depend on how quickly you can dispatch the orcs in Ithilien and the speed of my needlework."

Thengel failed to hide a grimace.

Morwen squinted at him as they made their way out of the woods. "You must admit that when it comes to my own projects I'm the picture of dogged persistence."

"I do admit it," he snorted. "While pointing out that, lucky for me, your persistence doesn't always equal success."

"And I'll point out that candor isn't always a virtue," she replied with a sniff.

"Hm."

They were interrupted on their walk back to the manor when Thengel's cousin, the one Morwen believed was Eadræd, Folcswytha's eldest son, waited for them in the rose garden. He hailed them.

He bowed respectfully. "I come to steal my cousin, lady. Huna wishes to review the agreement with him one more time before we depart tomorrow."

Morwen stared. Eadræd spoke perfect, if accented, Westron. She realized that she had made an assumption about Thengel's witnesses — and that he had not disabused her of it.

She caught Thengel wincing.

…

The next morning, Morwen ate breakfast in her room. She emerged in time to see off Folcswytha's sons and the men of Fengel's household who were returning to Edoras with Huna. Morwen waved them goodbye after Thengel took his leave of them and said whatever it was he thought fitting for the both of them in his native tongue. She offered nothing, assuming that he would change anything she had to say if it didn't suit him.

Morwen stood at Thengel's side in acidic silence until the riders' spears could no longer be seen. Then she turned and began to walk inside. She could hear Thengel following her. They had not spoken since meeting Eadræd in the rose garden. She couldn't bring herself to say anything to him now.

"There you are, Thengel." Gaeron passed them in the passage just inside the foyer. "The fishing poles were stored in the third shed. They shouldn't be hard to get at unless Morwen's crates have taken over that one too," he gabbled. "Your cousin…Ælfwine, I think….he said Ælfsige plans to remain behind, so there should be enough rods for the others. Are you ready?"

Morwen treaded toward the staircase in a state of imperious dissatisfaction that mounted the longer they were together. The sound of Thengel's footsteps ceased. He murmured with Gaeron. When the two of them had organized an outing for Thengel's remaining cousins, she didn't know. Perhaps during breakfast. Since she refused to ask him in any of the languages they shared, she would never find out.

Thengel's eyes followed her as she began to climb the stairs. She could feel their awareness on her back. Pretending not to feel it didn't help.

"Morwen…"

Morwen paused on the steps. She'd made it nearly to the top and briefly contemplated sailing onward in high dudgeon. But ignoring a direct address was more her mother's style than Morwen's. Now that he had chosen to speak, she had to acknowledge him. So, she turned back to look down at Thengel. Gaeron had slipped away without her hearing his departure. The passage was deserted of anyone else. She didn't know where her mother and Tathren had disappeared. They hadn't waited long in the dooryard once the Rohirrim left it.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Go fishing, Thengel." She wanted to stew in peace while she stabbed fabric with a needle.

He began to climb the stairs. "Gaeron can play host on his own."

Morwen remained fixed to the banister. "Aren't you worried about what unauthorized information your cousins might reveal to Gaeron if you're not there to check them?" she asked coldly.

Thengel's expression turned carefully blank as he stood level with her. "Let's address that, shall we?"

Morwen let Thengel guide her into the library. Amarthor had elected to enjoy a lie-in after the excitement of the negotiations the day before, so they had the space to themselves. Morwen eyed the game board on the table near the window. She sat down in her father's chair and began sorting and resetting the mother-of-pearl chips that had gotten mixed up together from the last game. Thengel watched her from the center of the room.

"I can see you're upset," he began.

Morwen set the bone dice in the middle of the board, then folded her hands in her lap. Thengel took the seat opposite her. They each set one chip on the seventh tile to start.

Thengel nudged the dice toward her. "I can guess why but I'd rather hear it from you straight."

Morwen rolled the dice. Six. The sixth tile stood empty, so she lost a chip and had to place it on the tile. "Name your witnesses who know the Common Speech."

Thengel's jaw worked for a moment. "Folcswytha's sons, all," he admitted. "Also Æþelwine and Ælfsige."

Morwen flushed with indignation as she pushed the dice toward Thengel. That made half of them. "Do they read too?"

"No." He rolled a seven and had to sacrifice a chip to the dowry. "Before me, only Folcswitha ever learned because of the need for correspondence between Meduseld and Mundburg during the strife with the Dunlendings in the west marches and then later with the conflict in Ithilien."

Morwen rolled a three and gave up a chip to that tile. "Do you admit that you purposely allowed me to assume that your kinsmen couldn't speak Westron at all so that you could control the conversation yesterday?"

"Huna only speaks the language of the Mark, so translation would have been necessary regardless," Thengel countered as he gripped the dice.

"Several of your cousins could have performed that office in your stead. Couldn't they?"

Thengel pressed his lips together and rolled. Eight. He surrendered a chip on the eighth tile.

"You wanted to control the delivery of any remarks that smacked especially of Fengel's venom," Morwen surmised as she rolled. Eight again. She took his chip and added it to the tile to her private store. "So you set yourself up as some sort of porter at the gate, authorizing what might or might not come through — all the while leaving me in the dark."

She pushed the dice toward him again.

Thengel ignored them. "For your protection, Morwen. Fengel words are like cankers."

Morwen felt a stab of desperation. "If you have your way, I will spend the rest of my life isolated and ignorant," she agonized. "It will already be painful enough to adjust to life in Rohan without going in deaf and blind. Your method will not help me. Nor do I appreciate you choosing for me." She reached out to grip his hand. "It's time you and I had our own negotiation."

He looked into her face for a long moment. "Very well," he agreed, palming the dice. "Tell me. What do you wish?"

"I'm young but I'm not a child — you said so yourself. That means I have as much a right to know what's happening around me as you have. I want the right to choose."

He cast the dice. Ten. Another chip disappeared from his store. Relinquishing the dice, he asked, "What else?"

"Teach me the speech of the Mark." Morwen rolled a twelve. She collected the dowry and the remaining chips. "I win."

He grimaced. "Morwen…"

Morwen held up three fingers. "Thengel, I swear on Elendil's grave that I refuse to move to a country where I don't know the language, especially now that you've used my ignorance to keep secrets."

"I don't object to you learning it. How could I?" he told her. "But believe me there was nothing nefarious in what I've done. I only wished to spare your feelings while I have the power to do so."

Morwen raised her chin. "My feelings have been hurt before. I'll live." She took a deep breath. "It's being left in the dark that I cannot tolerate."

Thengel pushed a chip around the board with his fingers. Morwen rose and touched his shoulder.

"Have a think," she said. "When you're ready we'll talk more."

She left him in the library to play the game by himself. Or not. He could choose. As Morwen closed the library door behind her, she saw him contemplating a chip as he flipped it over between his fingers. When she turned around, she almost bumped into Tathren.

"Oh! Sorry," she stammered.

"Never mind," Tathren said. "I've been looking for you — are you all right?"

"Fine. Or at least I intend to be," she evaded. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I need your help." The look she gave Morwen suggested extreme distress.

Morwen blinked at the desperation in her sister-in-law's tone. "You do?"

Tathren gripped Morwen's arm and began to lead her toward the stairs. They paused at the top. "After the meeting yesterday, your mother cornered me to ask what I'd done with the bridal blessing gift she'd given me." Tathren glanced up and down the hallway. "I'd completely forgotten about it."

"What did Mother give you?"

Tathren fished out a packet from the pouch on her belt. She held it out to Morwen. Accepting the delicate envelope, Morwen gently shook some of the contents into her hand. Her heart sank.

"Rose seeds," Morwen said.

"I don't know what to do with them," Tathren admitted, beginning to look more like the anxious icicle who had first turned up in the dooryard weeks ago. "Give me a ledger to correct or ask me to recite harbor levies for every port along the coast…but I've never grown anything from seed in my life. Gwereneth asked where in the garden I intend to plant the seedlings when they're ready. She thinks I've already sprouted them."

Morwen had a feeling that Gwereneth thought no such thing. She didn't know anyone in the valley who used anything but cuttings to grow new roses. It was like Gwereneth to turn a wedding present into a test.

"I know you're eager to sew again after the interruption yesterday," Tathren continued, "but…"

Morwen gripped Tathren's hand. "You've helped me and now it's my turn to help you. The project can wait." She glanced at the library door. "Come with me. I wanted to get out of the house anyway."

She led Tathren to the outbuildings, past the sheds to the gardener's greenhouse. Inside, rows of tables contained planters and boxes. At the back of the greenhouse, tall shelves of tools and supplies were haphazardly organized. The gardener had a magical green thumb but he had the tidy qualities of an unchecked clematis vine.

Morwen found a bowl and filled it with water from the rain barrel. She held out her hand for the seed packet. "They need to soak before we can do anything with them. That should help winnow out the poorly seeds from the good." After spilling the packet into the water, Morwen found an out-of-the-way corner on the tables that the gardener wouldn't immediately venture toward and possibly disturb their efforts.

"There's nothing to do until tomorrow," Morwen told Tathren. "But we can try to find a spot for the roses." She glanced at the packet and a set of initials at the top. "Oh. She gave you Cousin Bragolwen's Sunburn. They're a lovely red with a little freckling."

"Are your mother's hybrids all named after family?"

"Yes. Cousin Bragolwen allegedly ran away with a pirate…oh." Morwen realized now that Gwereneth had chosen that hybrid because of her less-than-sanguine opinion of merchants.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Uh…and I am told that over the years she always seemed to have a sunburn from all the sailing…and from living happily ever after," Morwen finished lamely.

"Your mother didn't like this cousin, did she?" Tathren muttered.

"Well…" Morwen swallowed. "What do you think about planting the roses under Gaeron's window when they're ready? Why don't we take a look." Morwen marched them around the house toward the gardens. "A rose bush or two might have been useful for keeping him from sneaking out."

"I thought you were the sneaker," Tathren reflected. "When did Gaeron ever sneak out?"

Morwen regretted agreeing to help Tathren. She seemed unable to keep her foot out of her mouth. How could she admit to her sister-in-law — only recently reconciled to her husband — about all the village girls he used to visit in the coppice?

"You're right. I must be thinking of me. How about planting them under my window?" Morwen gabbled.

They heard crunching on the gravel walk. At first, Morwen thought it must be Thengel and felt distinctly that she wasn't ready to see him yet. But then she saw Ælfsige approach.

"A word, please, lady," he said by way of a greeting.

But instead of a word, when she stepped aside for some privacy, he only held up a piece of cardstock. Morwen instantly recognized the piece she had drawn of Thengel for his thirty-fourth birthday.

"Did Thengel give you this?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "He told me you made the pictures in his house."

Did he steal it? She wondered. "I did, yes."

"Can you do this?" he asked, putting the cardstock in her hand. "For me?"

Morwen blinked at Ælfsige in surprise. "You would like me to draw your picture?"

Ælfsige nodded. "To send home." He added, "To a lady."

"I'd be happy to," she replied. "Did you stay back from fishing just to ask?"

"Yes, lady. Could you do it now?"

Morwen glanced at Tathren who stood under Gaeron's bedroom window, scrutinizing the casement and the bricks below. She needed to distract Tathren before she accidentally betrayed her brother.

"Yes. Now suits me perfectly." Then she called to Tathren. "Ælfsige requested my help. Will you go in with us?"

Tathren frowned one last time at the window before following them up the path to the front of the house. They were met by Eglanor and Hithuiel who each carried a hobby horse under their arms. Ælfsige squinted at the toys with suspicion, which made the neighbor women a little nervous.

Morwen felt nervous for a different reason. "Good morning. Meet Thengel's cousin Ælfsige. Oh — thank you, Eglanor. Thank you, both. Let me take those from you. Mother's waiting inside. Tathren will go in with you while I find a place for these."

She scooped the toys up in her arms and then promptly had them snatched away by Ælfsige while the ladies disappeared inside. He inspected them with dubious curiosity.

"Short neck." He clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Rounded nose. This is an ugly horse, lady. No balance."

Eglanor hadn't followed the pattern very strictly. In the case of the nose, she had probably gotten carried away with the stuffing.

"Yes, well, the quicker we put these in the shed the sooner you won't have to be offended by them." Since he insisted on carrying them for her, she gestured for him to come with her. "Follow me."

"These belong to you?" he asked.

"Yes. The ladies in the valley helped to make them for me," she explained.

Silence. Then he asked with a note of melancholy in his voice, "You like them?"

"Do you like them?" she countered, feeling it was far too soon to expose her ignorance to Thengel's kinsmen.

"No."

"Oh."

She opened the shed door and ushered him inside. One of the crates hadn't been sealed yet and had an offset lid. She lifted it so that Ælfsige could stow the false horses. When he saw the pile of others, his eyes widened.

"They don't have toys like this in the Mark?" she asked.

He shook his head. "We have horses. Who needs this?"

"I do. I mean, Thengel does. Because King Fengel won't send the morning gift."

"Morgengifu…" Ælfsige murmured in consternation as he surveyed the crates. Then he chuckled a little. "It's a joke."

"Well…not exactly but…"

He waved a hand. "Your toy éored and the iron mother who wants to contest Fengel King. You're playing."

"Yes…well…I suppose that's a point of view…" Morwen bit her lip and glanced toward the house. "Ælfsige, yesterday, when you winked at me, did you think that my mother had made a fool of herself?"

He shook his head. "No. The iron mother is a seasoned campaigner, is she not?"

"You could say that."

"She is a match for Fengel." He looked Morwen over critically. "But you require better gear than toys."

Morwen flushed.

"Steel is born from iron, lady," he told her. Then he tapped his chest. "In this family, you're going to need to be sterner than steel."