A Consolation of Princes Part II: A Revolt of Kings

by Medea Smyke

Morwen succeeded in finding a bride for Thengel. But as the summer passes, she soon learns that their impending marriage is larger than both of them. Will the blush of young love fade under the pressures and demands of family, king, and country, or is it made of sterner stuff?

2. Chapter 2

A Consolation of Princes, Part II: A Revolt of Kings
Chapter 2: A Revolt of Kings

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When Thengel finally rode up to Morwen's milestone, he raised an eyebrow in question at her retinue before dismounting in the lane.

"The barn cats had new litters," Morwen explained. "The kittens are fond of me so it looks like you're getting a cat woman despite your efforts to slouch out of it last month."

"Hm." Thengel's lips twitched. "Have you waited long?" he asked as he reached for her.

Morwen stepped into his arms, enjoying the feel of them cinching around her waist while remaining willfully heedless of the layer of dust on his clothes.

"Long enough to scare off a hawk going after the kittens."

"Another time, maybe," he reflected, glancing up at the sky through the overhanging branches.

Morwen glowered in the same direction. "Not if it knows what's good for it."

Thengel nodded knowingly. Gaeron and he had taught Morwen how to throw as a girl, though neither of them could take credit for her uncanny aim. Gaeron had tried once and claimed he still had the resulting bruise. Nathal's goats probably had a fairer claim on Morwen's progress, for being such useful targets conveniently ensconced in her mother's kitchen garden.

"Did you know I had to sneak out of a window?" she related when he slipped into silence. "Narrow casements couldn't keep me from you."

Thengel smiled fondly. "I've never known you to leave your father's house any other way," he teased. "But since you scared away your last tutor, I'm puzzled as to why you'd need to sneak out now."

"To escape the string of visitors I've had since coming home." Morwen sniffed delicately. "You'd think they'd never seen a future queen before."

Thengel's smile slipped. He hesitated. Then he continued to hesitate and think very hard about something. She blinked up at him and waited to learn the cause — or for him to start acting like a man who had been separated from his beloved for several weeks. In other words, more kissing and fewer vacant pauses. That was the point of meeting him on an empty country road.

With no explanation forthcoming, Morwen raised her chin. "This is the part in modern courtship where you admit that you missed me," she said flatly. "Even if you didn't."

His eyes snapped back to her face. "Of course I missed you."

"You've gone mute with longing?" she asked. "Feel free to spout poetry."

Thengel had the grace to look chastened. "Forgive me. I've missed you greatly."

He scooped his hand behind her head and kissed her but it felt like an afterthought. She stepped away and decided to wait for him to share whatever ruminations occupied his mind, but her foot landed on a sharp stone. She gasped a rude word and lifted her skirt to inspect the injury. Though the skin looked irritated it remained unbroken. A good thing. The bottom of her foot resembled the muddy flats of Anduin at low tide.

"Morwen, where are your shoes?"

She dropped the skirt. "I lost them climbing out the window."

Thengel reached for her waist. "Ride Baranroch before you tread on anything damaging."

Morwen braced her hands against his chest to stop him from throwing her onto the saddle. "Don't you dare. I've ridden more warhorses than I care to for one lifetime."

Thengel pursed his lips. "Stubborn. I'd say you're going to hurt yourself but you already have."

"I've walked through worse today," she informed him stoutly. "Riding Baranroch is out of the question." Her nose wrinkled. "But I may need your help washing off at the rain barrel before my mother will let me back inside the house."

"I'm always at your service," Thengel sighed. "Though riding home would serve you better."

"Being able to use the front door without bumping into neighbors would serve me best. But perfect is the enemy of the good."

"Hm."

They started down the road together, Thengel leading Baranroch and Morwen stalked by kittens. Offering his arm to Morwen, he guided their little party to the side so she could walk on the soft verge. Thengel went silent again. Morwen passed the time waiting for him to explain himself by identifying the birdsong around them and then realizing she'd been wrong once the bird came into view.

When they were only half a league from home and she felt thoroughly disgusted by her skill as a birder, he still hadn't confessed what had caused his earlier hesitation and his quiet mood. There were moments when she'd catch his unguarded expression and it looked grim.

"It's a hot day," she observed.

"It's summer."

Morwen glanced up at the sky and sighed. The road home began to feel quite long.

"You had a good journey?" she inquired.

"Tolerable."

Morwen could only pretend to listen intently to so much birdsong between clipped replies. She gave up trying to be subtle and simply observed, "You're angry."

Thengel exhaled through his nose. By the sound of it, she thought maybe he had hoped she wouldn't notice his mood. "I'm frustrated."

She looked up at him. "Why?"

Thengel licked his bottom lip, taking his time gathering his thoughts until she felt ready to burst. The journey between Minas Tirith and Imloth Melui should have given him plenty of time to set his mind in order.

"It's not Gaeron?" she guessed.

Thengel winced but said, "No, we've more or less patched things up."

That didn't surprise Morwen, though she had hoped for more than a patch. Her brother had sent her an apology that appeared to be mostly written by him. Though some of the expressions had to have come from Tathren. She'd chosen to presume his strong reaction to the engagement had much to do with the stress he was under at the time; or possibly from feeling foolish that he hadn't noticed the attraction between his sister and his friend all on his own, rather than from any genuine repugnance.

Thengel gave her a gallows smile. "In a decade he might even forgive me for carrying off his little sister."

"He's a stubborn blockhead as I've said." Morwen frowned. "If not Gaeron, then what?"

Thengel reached for her hand, squeezing it. "What have I told you about Rohirric wedding customs?"

"Shockingly little given our present circumstances." Morwen tried not to make it sound like a criticism. "It would have helped if my family hadn't immediately retreated to the country," she added.

They'd parted the day after their picnic on the Pelennor. Though Morwen had not enjoyed it, she admitted the advantages. Thengel and Gaeron had separately confirmed the reports of gossip circulating the city involving both siblings' romantic entanglements. While the distance provided privacy, it made communication laborious. The only blessing had been that since she and Thengel enjoyed a preliminary engagement, Morwen could write openly to him without resorting to stolen stationary and subterfuge.

"Your first letter mentioned that you needed us to help you find accommodations for a dozen witnesses."

He nodded. "In the Mark, a man brings three things to negotiate the marriage; the witnesses that I wrote you about, but also a sword and the marriage gifts. Well. I requested they be sent when I wrote to Fengel's council."

"Were they?" Morwen prodded when he hesitated again. She could at least see that he had no witnesses, though she supposed he could have left them behind in the village if he had also entertained hopes for a private reunion as she had. That seemed unlikely though, given how he'd squandered the opportunity to ravish her on the wayside with silence and a long face.

"Fengel sent an empty chest."

Morwen blinked. Did Thengel mean that the king had sent an errand-rider all this way with nothing? Going through the whole pretense of delivering an empty chest?

She thought she could guess why. So she decided to skip to practical considerations to see what they might be able to fix on their own without Fengel's cooperation.

"What should the chest have contained?" Morwen asked.

"Gold mostly. Household goods. It's not so different from Gondor's custom for bridal gifts. And something else that could not fit in a chest. The morning gift."

"What is a morning gift?"

"It's what you receive the morning after the wedding night," he answered with a special emphasis that made her feel rosy.

"Hm." She smirked. "It sounds like a bribe."

Thengel gave her a look. "I'm not talking about a little trinket. Think of it as an additional financial failsafe."

"All right." She subsided, letting him enjoy his bad mood. "Your father sent nothing. Is it necessary to display the actual goods for the negotiation or can we proceed without it?"

"I can't arrive empty-handed. Fengel knows that. The geunnan and the handgeld must be presented. That's how it's always been done. That way no one can cheat you out of anything in case I die or turn out to be a greedy troll like my father."

Morwen winced. She hadn't reckoned on this new obstacle. Nor did she particularly understand it. Even if witnesses viewed every last article, who could remember all of it after one meeting? Morwen decided to ask him.

"They don't have to remember everything. The goods are weighed. Even if every piece is forgotten over the years, the bride is eligible for the full weight in treasure."

"I see. Still. A contract seems more expedient," she thought. "Then it doesn't matter if your father sends the gifts or not."

"I know that's how it's done in Gondor now but remember the Mark has no written language," he explained patiently. "A piece of inked vellum would mean nothing, even with seals."

"So, no contract." The lack of a written language still boggled her mind. She couldn't see an excuse for it when every nation and race in Middle-earth but Rohan had one. Even Orcs scratched their nasty runes on things.

"Amarthor may still choose to draft a document, which I'll agree to sign," Thengel continued. "But if you ever find yourself in a position where you need to exert your rights when I'm gone, that contract would be of no use to you in the Mark. Remember, you won't have your parents or brother nearby to support you. You may have no one but whoever of our witnesses remain."

Morwen felt something like queasiness but worse at the thought of a time after Thengel. It started in the bones and worked its way out. Like dread, but somehow worse. Since there seemed to be no quarter to give or take, she dropped it.

"What is a traditional morning gift, by the by?" she asked, returning to an earlier point that felt less shuddersome.

"Horses for a lady of your standing."

Morwen stared at him, her heart in her throat as her question backfired. "How many? I mean, relative go Cynabald?" Since that seemed to be the standard measure in Rohan.

"About as many as his uncle's brother's cousin twice removed," he chanted without missing a beat.

What an extensive family Cynabald had. "That's enough to see me into old age, is it?"

Thengel half smiled. "And then some…provided you don't take up any expensive hobbies in your dowager years."

"I can't build an armada?" she quipped, pointedly ignoring any reference to becoming a dowager anything. "Cousin Adrahil gets to have all the adventures. I've heard he's been to Forochel."

Thengel smiled a little more. "You might be able to afford a handful of longboats of excellent quality if you're set on it."

"It's amazing what kind of damage you can inflict with an oar. There won't be a single duck pond that's safe from me." Then she blinked as the reality hit. "Just where were you planning to put all of these horses if Fengel hadn't thwarted you?"

Thengel gazed down the road. In the distance, a muster of peafowl crossed between fields, disappearing into the hay like ghosts. "Well…it isn't usually a problem in Rohan. They're up to their eyes in paddocks."

"Rohan's paddocks aren't an option for the wedding unless we stand on the boundary line while they weave our hands together. What am I supposed to do with Cynabald's uncle's brother's cousin's worth of horses exactly?"

"You look at them," he explained. "Everyone looks at you looking at them. If you're pleased, then that's that."

"That's that. Hm." She felt glad the king hadn't sent them to Gondor. Then everyone would know how much she'd be found lacking where it concerned horses. She shook her head. "Is it possible that your father's simply saving us from a big fuss?"

"Unlikely." Thengel glowered. "He'd rather lose his fingers and toes than part with gold or horses. The snub will have to be answered."

"Were we snubbed?" Morwen tucked her hair behind her ears as a breeze picked up strands of it on its way to chase dust down the lane. "Thengel, with all the corsairs you've fleeced over the years you're a wealthy man without any gifts from the Mark. Besides, it's not as though I'm coming into this empty-handed either." She grinned up at him. "And I've had kittens."

Thengel squinted at her and then at the mewing line of dandelion fluff trailing them. "Another instance of giving yourself too much credit, my own one."

"I thought it might demonstrate that we don't need anything from your father's coffers to proceed," she explained, gently tugging his sleeve.

Thengel looked away. "It's more than that, Morwen."

"I'm listening."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know you won't appreciate the significance but the king snubbed us. Greatly."

"In what way?"

"Isn't it enough to know that he has?"

Morwen could almost feel Thengel squirm, which puzzled her. The warriors under Ecthelion held Thengel in high esteem. His name turned corsairs' bowels to water. Born a prince and a lord, he had grown into a leader and one of her oldest and dearest friends. He could be poised to a fault and direct without mercy.

He'd chosen to marry her but having to open the door to Morwen and let her see into his stew of a family put Thengel out of his countenance like nothing else could. She loved the part of him that wanted to shield her but she felt that the less she knew the more trouble it would cause down the road.

Morwen squeezed his arm. He was trying but she needed him to try harder. "Your people understand Fengel's meaning. Yes? Please don't embarrass me by leaving me in the dark. You're saying that this is more than a private refusal to cooperate?"

Thengel looked like he'd rather bite off his tongue than enlighten her. "Everyone knows. The king would have ordered the council to arrange and send the chest. There's nothing private about it."

"I see. Sort of."

"Morwen, if you did see then you'd send me packing," he insisted. "If I thought — really thought — Fengel would respond this way, I might never have asked you to marry me."

Morwen stopped abruptly, causing Thengel to stop too as their arms were linked. Baranroch huffed in confusion which mirrored her feelings. She couldn't have been more surprised or alarmed if Thengel had pushed her. To mask it, she reached for levity.

"To be clear, you only asked to court me. I had the idea to skip that nonsense and get to business."

Having spent years being overshadowed by Gaeron, the favored son, she preferred to receive the credit too.

Thengel closed his eyes for several seconds before looking at her again. "Forgive me. I wouldn't have approached you at all, then."

Morwen stared at him. "Why not?"

Thengel sliced the air with his hand. "Because you don't deserve this kind of treatment." He exhaled roughly. "I feel as badly about Fengel's response as if I had dragged you through the mud myself."

"Have I been dragged through the mud?" Morwen asked. It seemed to her that Fengel had only exposed his selfish contrariness.

"Yes."

"Well, too bad," she announced. "You can't back out now without dooming me to spinsterhood."

Thengel's eyes flashed with temper. "That's ridiculous."

"No, it isn't."

Baranroch's ears pinned back. Thengel checked himself and stroked the stallion's neck while keeping a firm grip. The stallion swung his head once but settled.

Morwen held up three fingers. "Remember on Gaeron's wedding night I faithfully promised not to marry until you do. My mother's a witness. And I forbid you to marry anyone but me. So."

"You couldn't get me to marry anyone else no matter how hard you tried," he recalled as he stroked Baranroch's neck. "And you did try."

"Only to one woman." Yet, Morwen knew she would spend the rest of their life together hearing about it. "Húnil wouldn't have you, so let's not hear any more of this 'I wouldn't have asked you' business."

"Morwen, I wish you would seriously consider — "

"Consider that you're giving your father too much power over you?" she reproached. "And, frankly, over me too. Tell me what you're so reluctant to explain."

Thengel seemed to turn gray. But he began, "The empty chest…"

"Yes."

"It's as good as not acknowledging the bride. The size of the handgeld should be in direct proportion to her presumed worth. By sending the empty chest, he's suggesting that the loss to your family when you leave it will be insignificant. Without all the elements together, it's like…"

"You're getting a bawd rather than a wife."

Thengel didn't deny that his father had likened her to a prostitute. Charming man, King Fengel. His son had more affability and kindness in the cuticle of his smallest nail than the king had throughout the whole.

Morwen felt her lips and nose begin to tingle, which reminded her to stop holding her breath. She'd gone numb, which meant she was trying to squirm out of feeling something too. For the second time, someone in their respective families had suggested that she'd only amount to a bed warmer. Honestly, she didn't appreciate the growing fashion. But whereas Gaeron had merely hurt her feelings, she had to give real weight to the kind of damage Fengel could do from his position.

"If the king doesn't acknowledge me then they won't acknowledge our children," she observed, feeling a knot of apprehension form in the pit of her stomach.

Unfortunately, certain attitudes toward women seemed to be universal. Fengel's attempt to smear her could lead to trouble for the next generation as it had for Valacar's family. Ignorant as she knew herself to be about the court at Edoras, she at least knew that.

Thengel draped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "Morwen, they will. And while Fengel might choose to debase you, nobody else could. I'll think of something."

Morwen observed him struggling with an idea. She chose to focus on her breath and watch the kittens rather than force him or tease him. Amarthor's family tended to value patience in other people without caring much for it in themselves. Morwen considered now that this attitude might serve as a handicap in her relationship with Thengel. Every aspect of it now seemed like an exercise forcing practice.

"In some ways, it's my fault," he reflected. "I should have planned for this moment better. Why I ever thought in my heart of hearts that I could count on Fengel's cooperation I don't know, except I may have taken for granted that his council would win out over his belligerence in a matter as weighty as this. As a result, I have nothing to show at the negotiation with your family except a king's slight."

Morwen tapped his chest. "And yourself. That's something," she soothed, but Thengel snorted softly. "You know, from a certain point of view this spiteful turn has provided us with distinction." When he looked confused, Morwen met it with an uplifted chin. "I've always felt that if you must be slighted, it may as well be by a king. It wouldn't hold the same distinction coming from, say, a boot maker."

Thengel looked askance. "This is hardly the time for jokes."

Morwen imagined the hours he had spent alone on horseback on his way to Imloth Melui, knowing what sort of news he had to offer her. He'd spent enough time brooding over it.

She also began to see a hint of their future together, at least where it concerned Thengel's family. Morwen felt for him. As much as he moved in Gondor like a free man, it simply wasn't the case. Fengel overshadowed every choice Thengel made. So she decided to set the tone now before it became too late to keep Fengel's shadow from getting to her too. She reached inward for her familiar shield.

"What's the alternative, Thengel?" she challenged. "Allowing some petty old man I've never met to disturb my peace? I'd much prefer to laugh at him."

Thengel said grimly, "You know what the poets say about laughing at a live dragon."

"Check that it isn't merely an overstuffed lizard first before you give it too much consequence?" she rejoined.

Thengel ducked his head, trying hard to remain serious. "It's irreverent to refer to a king as a lizard."

"It's irreverent to draw caricatures of them, as well," she added, unimpressed by Thengel's attempt at censure. "I won't be cowed by a man who has bad manners no matter what kind of hat he wears."

"I see your point, Morwen," he eventually allowed. "But you don't know Fengel."

"You're right. I don't." Then she asked, "Will I ever meet your family?"

"Some of them one day. My sisters in particular — " Then his brow plunged. "Fengel, you mean. How could you want to after everything I've explained?"

She simply could. "Can you blame me for feeling horribly curious?"

"No, but…"

Morwen touched her heart. "I've never been persecuted by someone I've never met. It seems only fair that I get to dislike him equally. In the normal way," she philosophized, "I try to reserve judgment until after I've met someone."

Thengel frowned grimly. "Morwen."

She ignored his dour tone. "I recall you once said that Fengel would knight me. I assume that comes with new clothes and a weapon?"

"And a cask of ale and a whole pig at Yule."

"Excellent." She observed, "That's more than I shall get from him by marrying you if he gets his way." She tapped her chin. "Perhaps by denying you, that's his strategy to recruit me. He must need someone with a mind for strategy and an excess of charm."

Thengel looked like he'd started to chew his own tongue, but the ire had ebbed as she had intended. "Consider first that your choice would be either to hunt orcs for my father or to deal with me."

Morwen looked down at herself. "I shall cut a dashing figure in leather armor."

"Witling." He snorted. "Though it would be something to see you charm an orc."

"I charmed you." Morwen laughed. He almost smiled. "I have heard you blacken Fengel's name for years so naturally I'm morbidly curious to see him now that he hates me as much as he hates you."

"Fengel doesn't hate you. How could he? He wants to provoke me by insulting you," Thengel explained.

"Is that all?"

He gripped her shoulders. "Could you allow this to be the one instance where you grant me absolute, blind cooperation?" he asked without any conviction in his voice.

"And die curious?" she gasped. "He sounds like a prime specimen for caricature."

Thengel sighed as though he expected her to say that. "Morwen, the only way for you to meet the king is to travel to Rohan by yourself. I am not permitted to return until he either decrees it or dies. And before you ask — no, it's out of the question. He won't inconvenience himself to ride out from Edoras to meet you here."

She had a steely, rebellious look in her eyes. "Gaeron might — "

The kittens had begun to crowd their feet and tried to climb Thengel's trousers. He crouched down and gently removed one. He set it down only to watch it attempt to scale his leg a second time. He gave up and stood again.

"Morwen, listen. Someday when we are summoned you'll have ample opportunity to experience my father through his handiwork. Though I feel you've had proof of his character already. It may take the entirety of my reign to clean up after him."

Yes, Morwen expected it would. If King Fengel enjoyed making a mess of his heir's marriage to the detriment of his family line, she could only imagine what sort of petty games he played with his retainers to amuse himself. Thengel and she would arrive in Edoras to find a suspicious, harassed, and divided court. Without Thengel's help navigating it all, she would almost assuredly walk around kicking proverbial wasps nests.

"I won't tease you about it, then," she told him. "But I will help shoulder this burden as much as I can." And hopefully not make it worse.

He brightened. "Thank you."

"Though there's much I might not understand," she admitted, squinting at him. "I suspect you could have chosen better."

"If you had allowed me to choose, then perhaps I might have," he twitted her with a slow grin. "Am I not dancing to your tune?"

Morwen began to feel persecuted again. "You know very well I have no power over you."

"I don't know that, truth to tell." That interesting gleam appeared in his eyes again. "But I did hear that Húnil eloped with a former favorite of yours. So."

"Ugh." She had heard that too from her mother, who had heard it from Tathren's mother.

Morwen tried to walk off without Thengel if he meant to tease her about her evil genius but the kittens had scaled her skirt too. She bent down to unfasten their sharp little claws while they mewed at her. Once freed, she shook her skirts out, scattering the little nuisances in all directions. Thengel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face him before she could bolt.

"Morwen, the rightness of our choice will be for history to decide," he explained, serious again. "For my part, there was only this road, much as it pains me to expose you to Fengel. If there's one thing about the fallout with my father that I could be grateful for, it's coming to Gondor and finding you. Old Valacar and I aren't so different."

Morwen hoped that sentiment would last. It would break her heart if he ever changed his mind. She hadn't realized she'd felt any doubt about it until now. "What will come of it, I wonder?"

Thengel fell silent for a time, his gaze long as they walked on. She could see the roofs of the outbuildings and she began to fear she'd never hear his thoughts. Around them, the kittens pounced at flies, flowers, and one another. Baranroch huffed, perhaps sensing the end of the journey, sweet grasses, and a trough full of clear water.

"I see clouds gather in the distance," Thengel mused aloud. "And a ray of light piercing through. Whatever it is, our line won't diminish even if a storm comes."

But would their line stand a chance without Fengel's cooperation? "What if the Rohirrim won't recognize the union?"

Thengel's expression twisted slightly. "I admit our troubles are on a ceremonial level."

Morwen stopped him again. "Meaning?"

Thengel glanced down and worried the dirt with his boot. "The marriage will be recognized in Gondor. Our countries honor the marriages that have taken place outside of their borders." He shrugged. "So."

So.

"They'll recognize us as a couple, but the ritual is important to you and them," she answered for him. "Without Fengel's stamp of approval on the chest, there will always be a lingering doubt."

Thengel reached for both her hands and squeezed them. "I have missed so many of my people's traditions. Marriage is significant to the Rohirrim. We're clannish — though I may be a poor sample. It's how we've survived over the ages after being scattered from our old homes in the far north." He looked her in the eyes. "I had hoped I wouldn't be robbed of this custom, too."

"I want you to have your traditions." Morwen squeezed her arms around his waist. "So it seems we're delayed for now?"

Thengel nodded. "I'm sorry. It's uncertain when we can proceed. I wanted to see you, so I didn't postpone traveling down."

"So what do we do?"

Thengel pulled her close and smoothed his hands down her back. "If Fengel won't relent, I imagine we'll follow Gondor's customs. Then once I'm called back, we'll go through the ritual. We'll present swords then…"

"On a ceremonial level or will I need that leather armor?" She did suspect she'd wear it well.

"Naturally on a ceremonial level as I value my neck," he drawled. "Oaths must be witnessed."

"Naturally. Thengel, I don't have a sword." If her father had one, she'd never seen it. That left Gaeron's weapon. Would he loan it to her? The likelihood of a favorable answer from him right now seemed doubtful despite truces and apologies.

"I'm supposed to give you an old family sword with history and lore attached to it," he corrected her. "That way the heirloom stays in the family and there's no doubt about the sword's…quality."

"Oh. The old family one. Of course." Morwen wondered if they were still talking about actual swords. It sounded like a lot of posturing on the groom's side. Then she asked, "Where is this weapon?"

Thengel's expression turned sour. "In Edoras along with everything else my family should provide for you." He frowned. "I didn't have marriage on my mind the night I left Meduseld otherwise I might have thought to bring one."

"Don't be silly. You were barely eighteen and running for your life if I recall."

"Not exactly that," Thengel admitted. "But I did leave in a hurry. Long story short, I could kiss the ring or get out. So I got out. The thought of one more night under his roof…"

From the looks of it, Thengel didn't need to live under Fengel's roof to feel severely frustrated by his father. It made all of her quarrels with her mother pale in comparison. Gwereneth might despair of Morwen but she never tried to thwart her. She suspected she hadn't been grateful enough for that distinction before now.

"How do we get our hands on this legendary sword?" she asked, letting him go so they could walk again.

"We don't unless someone can pry Fengel's blade from his cold, grasping hands," he grumbled. "I hear he's using it as a back scratcher."

A back scratcher? That sounded ill-advised to Morwen, but swords weren't her area of expertise. Also, giving anything that once belonged to Fengel to a loved one seemed ill-advised. Surely there would be some taint.

"Can't we get another one? Surely the House of Eorl must have a storeroom full by now."

"Warriors who fall in battle are buried with their swords," Thengel explained. "So most have fallen from use."

"Then a new one can be made."

"Yes, that can be done," Thengel agreed hesitantly.

Morwen glanced at him. "But?"

"But the blade's lore is a protection for a warrior. Our bards say the metal holds the memory of its battles and imparts them to the man who wields it. Our sons should have blades with a renowned history. But I fear I will have to have a new one forged or there will be nothing for the wedding and that is bad luck."

"Then according to your poets," she asked, "wouldn't a new blade leave our sons vulnerable?"

"They would consider it a spiritual handicap," Thengel agreed.

Morwen walked on, feeling icy shards form in her stomach. "Would your father do that to his heir's heir?"

Thengel raised an eyebrow. "Have my descriptions of him not been thorough?"

Well.

"And whose sword does Fengel have?" she asked.

Thengel paused. "Fengel had a new blade." He added darkly, "One that has seen little use."

Yes, as a back scratcher. Morwen saw light. "So he resented having a new blade himself and wants to make others feel it."

Thengel shrugged. "He has a chip on his shoulder large enough to serve as a trough. Third son. The third choice for the throne. His brothers died in glory while his parents sheltered him at home. Then to be denied a blade fit for a king as he trained as a Rider? The man has more grievances than a cat has lives."

"Surely some weapon remained that he could have."

"As the youngest of three sons, there were none. The remaining king blades from the first line were buried with Helm's sons. The second line had few. When Folcred and Fastred died, the last of the king blades went into the mound with them."

Morwen rubbed her forehead as a new worry for the future developed. Then she startled, looking at the sheath in its protective wrappings as it hung over Thengel's luggage.

"Whose sword do you have?"

"Stielebíte belonged to Ælfred, my mother's father."

For a custom or superstition she had only just learned about, Morwen felt surprised by the weight of relief that Thengel had a kinsman's sword.

"But you made it sound like the groom's family provided the sword."

Thengel waved a hand. "In a pinch, we've been known to bend the rules."

"And Fengel couldn't have had his mother's father's sword, then?"

"Thanchere had his own sons and grandsons." Thengel muttered cryptically, "Who put his sword to better use than Fengel would have."

Morwen's heart sank as she began to understand Thengel's father better. There was a meanness, a littleness of spirit that she expected. But to pass on an old grievance to a generation yet to be born which might cause them actual harm made him a dangerous man. She might choose to laugh at Fengel to spare her own feelings, but she couldn't ignore him.

Another uncomfortable thought occurred to her as they neared home.

"We may be getting ahead of ourselves," she reflected with only a little trepidation. "I might give you more daughters than Cynabald and all his…lady acquaintances."

"I suppose, like Ælfred, we might not have any sons," he agreed uneasily. Then he looked at her sidelong. "Lady acquaintances?"

Morwen shrugged. "I don't know what sort of man this Cynabald is." Then she said, "You should know before the negotiations begin that my parents will never agree to a marriage if there's the slightest chance I would be perceived as a…lady acquaintance…until we move to Rohan."

"Amarthor agreed."

She stared at him until he looked appropriately guilty. "I admit I already wrote to your father ahead of time as I also had my doubts. The letter explained everything."

Morwen glared at him. "You gave Father the opportunity to call off the engagement without letting me know?"

"I wanted to sound him out before making you worry."

"They never said a word to me," Morwen cried, stepping away from Thengel.

"That might be because Amarthor's a little prejudiced — which worked in our favor. Perhaps he didn't think it merited your attention once he made up his mind," Thengel told her. "I felt it was the proper thing to do."

"Stars above," she muttered to herself. Morwen could tolerate most vices better than Thengel's virtues. His sense of decency had played gatekeeper to their relationship one too many times.

Morwen silently fumed as they entered the gates to Amarthor's sloping lawns and the gravel drive approaching the manor house. The kittens scattered toward the barns and she barely noticed. Thengel began to trail behind with Baranroch. Picking her way gingerly over the gravel, she almost forgot to nod and wave courteously across the yard to Eglanor and Hithuiel who were finally leaving and would cut around the back of the house through the new coppice on their way home. Fortunately, this meant they wouldn't cross paths in the yard.

Only when Morwen reached the shaded eaves of the horse barn, did she feel composed enough to speak to Thengel again. She slid doors open so he could lead Baranroch inside.

"How did Father respond?" she asked as she followed him and slipped into a pair of muck boots just inside the door.

"In his reply, your father deemed a marriage recognized by Gondor as sufficient as long as I could prove that you'll be provided for," he told her as he paused in the tack area.

"Not taking into account that one day we have to live in the Mark and that your father's attitude will set the foundation for your reign?" Morwen stormed as she handed him one of the tethers. "How could he be so insensible?"

Thengel finished securing Baranroch and began to remove the saddle. She took the pad to throw in the laundering pile.

"Does it surprise you?"

"Well, yes. I am surprised. Does Father think money is the only thing we need to govern a country?"

Thengel began to rub down Baranroch. "To be honest, I suspect he thinks of the Mark as Calenardhon still. Just a mere wilderness or a footnote of Gondor proper."

Morwen grabbed a bucket to fill up from the rain barrel while she listened. She paused in the doorway.

"Father knows Rohan is a country," she grumbled before ducking out to get water.

"Not a very important one," she heard him call. "Remember his opinion of old Valacar's choice to marry Vidumavi."

When she came back, she filled a trough for Baranroch.

"You don't seem bothered enough by Father's attitude," she noted. "Why?"

Thengel held up his hand. "Consider that your father's dismissal of my culture is preventing the dissolution of our betrothal. So."

So.

"But Mother can't agree with Father. She's sensitive to anything that might besmirch the family. You should have seen how white she became when Gaeron told us Tathren left him. She couldn't speak."

"That's more than I can tell you," he admitted. "I addressed the message only to Amarthor and the reply referred only to his opinions." Thengel gazed at her with a weary, resigned expression. "Amarthor views my father as little more than a straw man. It's misguided but it's working in our immediate favor at least. The future will have to be looked to, but there's no point until we can move forward with the marriage."

A straw man. Morwen paced in the barn aisle as her mind flew. She caught Thengel giving Baranroch a worried frown.

Morwen snatched Thengel's sleeve. "I'm still angry with you for keeping me in the dark — but I've just had an inspiration." Morwen's fingers scrabbled through her hair. "I can fix the morning gift and kill another bird at the same time."

Gwereneth would be thrilled. Probably. As much as anything Morwen did could thrill her.

Thengel's expression turned haggard as he unhooked Baranroch so he could turn him out in the paddock. "How?"

Morwen didn't hear him. Her mind had raced ahead to various storerooms and sheds and their contents. She barely registered it when Thengel led Baranroch away to the paddock door. When Thengel returned to the tack area his eyes followed her up and down the aisle.

"I'll need help." She attempted some spontaneous arithmetic while clinging to a post. "Lots of help. But the horses are yours, yes?"

Thengel stood in front of her and studied her face, possibly for signs of a trap. "Ye-es."

"The trouble is you can't get your hands on them because of your father, yes?"

Thengel squinted at the rafters. "Yes, but…"

"The gift…it's the symbol that's important for witnesses, yes?" she asked, speaking over him.

"Yes, but it's more than that. It's your wealth…"

Morwen gripped his arm. "I know, but that's yours to give once Fengel's gone no matter where it is. This whole upset is about your father not putting it neatly into a box for you."

He scoffed at her version of things, stepping away from her. Morwen watched him collect his bags and his sword from the floor.

"We've established I won't be driven into the marshes to starve in years to come. It's the symbol that's lacking. The ceremony. People looking at me while I look."

Morwen paused to wait for him to catch up to her line of thinking as he returned to her side.

"More or less…but that's an oversimplification of an age-old…"

Morwen placed her hand on his chest. ''You worry about the sword and the handgeld and the witnesses. I'll take care of the morning gift."

Thengel hooked her elbow, steering her out of the barn. "But, Morwen, that's not how the custom goes. The groom —" He noticed how she looked at him and stopped arguing. "How?"

"You said your people could bend the rules in a pinch," she reminded him, letting some steel thread through her voice. "Well. Consider us pinched. I'll worry about the morning gift. You worry about how else to get around Fengel. That's plenty."

They stepped back into the sunlight of the dooryard. Morwen stopped and faced him. Thengel regarded her somberly.

"Do we have a pact?" she asked, holding out her hand.

Slowly, Thengel gripped her wrist. "Very well."

"Good. It's tedious being angry with you. I'd much rather focus on a solution."

"Agreed." Then Thengel handed her the sword.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Hold onto it for a moment," he ordered.

Morwen cradled the sheath like a baby. "All right."

He strapped his bag across his back and secured it, then held out his arms. "Well?"

Morwen blinked at him. "What?"

Thengel nodded toward her feet. "Gwereneth won't let those boots into the house either. Off with them." He pointed to the side of the barn. "You enlisted my help. There's the rain barrel. There's the dipper. I'll hold you up."

Morwen let him scoop her into his arms. With one arm, she anchored the sword. With the other, she tried to rinse her feet with the dipper. The stubborn grit wouldn't wash off. She tried rubbing her feet together but that spread the mud around. Thengel tried bracing his leg against the side of the barn while holding up her body so he could help massage away the dirt with his freed hand. But he almost lost his balance, which caused Morwen to throw her arms around his neck, dropping the sword and the dipper full of water.

When Gwereneth came looking for them a little later, they were half-covered in water and laughing.

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Thank you for reading!