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?

5. Chapter 5

A Consolation of Princes II: A Revolt of Kings
Chapter 5: A Haggling of Hafaestnung

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Thengel returned from Minas Tirith after the first harvest. But this time he didn't come alone. From her milestone, Morwen perceived a line of Riders bearing the devices of Rohan on their gear. Their spears could be seen glinting in the sunlight between the trees. A few villagers who had been overlooked by the local gossips wondered briefly over their noon repasts if they were being invaded. But aside from tucking the valuables within easy reach into their pockets, they only philosophized that someone — not them — should do Something.

So Thengel's retinue arrived unchecked by the good people of the valley. When Morwen met him, he swung off Baranroch's back and scooped her up in his arms right there in the road. She gasped his name in surprise as his arms circled her waist and swept her up. It had been a long time since he'd tried to do that. She'd grown, too, so the effect was a bit different. Especially since there had been no kissing the last time.

When she became sensible of anything else, she heard rumbling in a foreign tongue. She felt Thengel raise his arm. The contingent of Riders continued without them, the stamp of their horses' hooves on the road fading away.

"Pardon me," Thengel apologized when he'd finished kissing her. His grin belied the apology as he set her down. "I got carried away."

"I know. You brought me with you," Morwen breathed once she could speak again. She patted down her hair. "No need to apologize. I'm just not used to being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. But I liked it. It's given me a new perspective on potatoes."

Thengel looked around the roadside. "No kittens?"

Morwen shook her head. "No. They've hit the age of disdain and have grown too old and dignified to go on expeditions with me."

"In other words, you're not a mouse."

"Correct." Then she asked, "Who are all those people?"

Thengel gazed down the road at the line of horsemen disappearing from view. "My witnesses."

Morwen squinted in their direction also, shading her eyes from the sun. "Do they know who I am?"

"They may have a suspicion," he laughed. "They're my cousins and some of the warriors I trained with as a youth in Edoras."

Morwen smiled at the warmth in Thengel's voice. She hadn't seen him so lighthearted since the day of their picnic. Happiness suited him.

"When did they arrive?"

"A week ago," he admitted.

"A week!"

"In my defense," he began, "I oversaw the finishing touches on the house during that time, except for a few odds and ends that Sadril can take care of in my stead."

"That news helps to clear you a little but…"

Thengel's fingers brushed the side of her face as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "These men traveled some three hundred and fifty miles — more in some cases — so I felt rushing down to Lossarnach might be ungracious or else I would have returned sooner," he explained. "My cousins and I had to make up for lost time. They had a great deal of news and greetings from my other family to deliver." He gestured toward his saddle where a long, thin bundle had been stowed. "And Ælfsige managed to smuggle a sword out of Meduseld that my sisters secretly ordered for us."

"Well. In the face of facts, I won't be grumpy about it then." Morwen stroked his arms, buoyed by his cheerful mood. "I'm guessing you have good news for me too since you're all here."

Thengel grinned at her. His hands rested on her hips. "Fengel refused to send the geunnan, as you know, but the king couldn't stop my cousins and friends from coming with his chief councilor. What's more, Turgon supplied the geunnan in Fengel's stead."

"He did?" she gasped. "Is that why he summoned you?"

"Yes. It's the rebuke of the Age, Morwen," Thengel announced with satisfaction. "How Fengel must be stewing — or will be when the news reaches Edoras. He hates to be shown up as much as he hates giving away gold."

Morwen tried to imagine that and failed. "That is good news," she sighed. "Do you feel like you can marry me your way now?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Mostly."

"But?"

He squeezed her hips again. "There's one catch."

Morwen's eyes widened. "Only one? Thank the stars. What is it? Does Turgon want our firstborn? Or do you have to give him the first thing you receive upon coming home?" She blinked and covered her mouth. "Oh no. That's me!"

Thengel snorted. "Nothing like that. Here." He handed her a box that he retrieved from his saddlebag.

Morwen turned the box in her hand. It covered the width of her palm. "What is it?"

"Open it."

She slid the lid open. "A key?"

The skin around his eyes crinkled as his smile widened. "To the house."

Morwen poked at the cold metal, sliding the key around the bottom of the box. "I don't see how a key to your house is much of a surprise. Sadril has to surrender her keys to me after the wedding anyway."

"Not to the townhouse. To a house in Arnach." He gripped her forearm. "It's yours."

"We have a house in Arnach?" She stared at him. "And it's in my name?"

He nodded. "That's Turgon's stipulation. Most of the wealth he's bestowing is tied up in the property and it's all in your name. I can't touch it nor can anyone in my family unless you will it."

"Why?"

"You're in a peculiar position, Morwen. So Turgon's provided you with property in Lossarnach as well as gold to help mitigate those circumstances. We'll live in Arnach when we're not in Minas Tirith, as I promised. And after I'm summoned, you're free to return to Gondor after I die."

Where she had felt curious and somewhat bewildered by the scale of the gift, the thought of after left her feeling stung and nerveless. She almost dropped the box. "How can you talk of after when it's only just begun?"

Thengel's smile slipped. "Because it's my business to guarantee your future. That starts now, Morwen." Then he added, "Anyway, the property is yours to live in permanently after I'm gone if you wish."

Morwen went as cold as the metal that formed the key. "Free to or have to?"

"Of course, you can remain in the Mark if you wish. No one's saying you can't. But Turgon thought it might offer you protection in light of Fengel's behavior."

Morwen stared hard at the key. She felt like something from Thengel's explanation lacked the full scope of the situation. Only, she didn't know what he'd left out. But the house and the gold as a gift seemed like a very grand gesture from a man who, though valuing Thengel a great deal, didn't know her enough to justify such generosity without there being more to the story that she wasn't privy to. Maybe. Or perhaps thinking of the gift in conjunction with her eventual widowhood made her feel sour and suspicious.

When she didn't respond, he gave her shoulders a light squeeze. "Well? What do you think?"

Morwen looked up. "That together you and Turgon have managed to make a gift mournful."

Thengel frowned as he searched her face. "I intended it to be a comfort, not to distress you."

"Comfort?" Morwen tried to moderate her tone as her feelings spiraled. "It feels like Turgon's trying to tether me in two places at once."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But if saddling yourself with me and moving to a new country doesn't agree with you, then you won't be trapped there when I'm no longer around to look after you."

"A bolt hole," she murmured sourly as she handed the box back to Thengel. "What will the Rohirrim think of me?"

Thengel frowned at the road where his kinsmen had disappeared. "Who can say — but does it matter? This gift may not hold any appeal for you now," he reflected as he turned the box over in his hands. "But when the time comes around you may feel very differently about remaining in the Mark."

"And if my feelings don't change?"

Thengel shrugged. "As for the house, sell it or pass it along to our children. But you may find that you wish to spend the last of your days among your own people. Think of Gaeron and Tathren. You'll have family here."

"Never mind about my own children. At least one of them can't come back with me." She allowed herself to snort. They were making a lot of assumptions. "But then, you might outlive me and then all of this preparation will have been in vain."

"That's nothing to jest about," he scolded.

Morwen blazed. "Now you know how I feel — which is thoroughly morbid." She waved her hand. "This whole ritual from the marriage negotiation to the ceremony…it's premeditating a funeral. Is there anything to look forward to besides your death?"

"A good many things, but we can't avoid the unpleasant. That's the point of the negotiation — to make sure you're cared for." Thengel turned away to stow the box with his gear. When he faced Morwen again, he said, "I dread the day when Riders arrive from Edoras with my summons. You know that my destiny lies in the north. But it doesn't mean that you — "

"Then so does mine."

"Until death," he offered. "Then you will be free to do as you please."

She cupped his face in her hands. "Listen carefully, Thengel. Your destiny is not my cage. I'm already free and have decided freely. What's gotten into you?"

He glanced down self-consciously. "Perhaps I've let my father's behavior and your brother's words get under my skin and I want to make up for it. Still. It's prudent. We need to consider all the possibilities so that you have opportunities later on."

"Are you having doubts?" she asked. "About the two of us, I mean, being a good match despite the differences that Gaeron harped on about."

"No," he said decidedly. "Your fëa and mine are coeval, even if the same cannot be said for our flesh."

Morwen arched her brow. "Which of us got the timing wrong, I wonder?"

Thengel half smiled. "I arrived first, so you must have dawdled along the way," he presumed with patient long-suffering.

Morwen crossed her arms. "Oh, and what was I doing?"

Thengel's gaze turned skyward. "Easy. Organizing the other souls whether they wanted it or not."

Despite the tide of dread that this conversation had provoked, Morwen laughed at this picture of herself. "Did it bother you to have to be so patient?"

"Yes." Then he looked grave. "Life may pay you out for that."

Morwen's mirth subsided as quickly as it had arrived. She tugged at his sleeve. "We won't think about that now, please." She wanted to be a bride. That proved difficult enough to achieve thanks to Fengel without having to consider widowhood as well.

Thengel studied her face, looking for who knows what. Morwen stared silently back. Though he looked like he could wax on for some time on the subject, he let it go.

She took his hand. "Come. There's something at home I want to show you."

"What is it?" he asked with only a small thread of apprehension. "Did you finally paint Gaeron and Tathren as some fated Númenórean couple?"

"Ha. Not yet." Morwen looked up at him as they walked side by side while he led Baranroch. "You aren't the only one with good news. I've kept busy. With Mother's and Tathren's help and a few of the neighbors, I believe we should be on schedule upholding my side of the bargain."

When they reached the outbuildings, she signaled to a stable lad to attend to Baranroch while she took Thengel past the barns to a shed. Thengel opened the doors for her and then followed her inside. Morwen stopped where the sunlight ended and gestured in front of her.

"What do you see?" she asked.

Thengel crossed his arms. "A few crates."

"Yes." Morwen pointed to the stacked boxes pushed to one side of the shed. Tathren said it had started to look like one of her father's warehouses. "Those have come from Pelargir. Tathren's mother worked diligently on our behalf. Can you believe it? Renneth and Tangon have become solicitous ever since you decided to marry me. Renneth even wrote asking for more supplies."

"Supplies of what?"

Morwen patted a crate. "You'll see after the wedding."

"Are you going to show me what's inside, at least?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Absolutely not. Just know that contrary to reputation I haven't been a slouch in your absence." She smirked. "I'm calling it the Serion Project."

Thengel glowered. "I don't want to know why."

"Good, because I'm not going to tell you yet." Morwen braced a hand against his chest, backing him out of the shed. "Now, don't you have a negotiation to get out of the way? I imagine my mother is trying to figure out what to do with all of those handsome tow-headed spearmen that have suddenly appeared in the dooryard."

Thengel's eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. "You find them attractive?" he asked, looking at her sidelong.

"It's time you grew your hair out. That's all I'll say about that."

Morwen noticed Thengel touch the back of his head when he didn't think she was looking.

…

The presence of a dozen spearmen produced an interesting effect on the household. Though coming from a martial line, the fighting spirit had skipped over Amarthor. He'd become a scholar and lived a quiet life minding his fields, his tenants, and his books. The spears discomfited him, so Morwen played three calming rounds of House of Fortune with him while their guests settled before the negotiations began.

Despite being cowed by spears, in a rare fit of defiance, Amarthor withstood his wife's insistence that the negotiation take place in the spacious and sensible manor hall. Never mind that heavy tables had to be shifted to accommodate the occasion in his library. Morwen could see her father congratulating himself from the head of the table on a fight worth having when they were all seated opposite the battery of foreign warriors. Thus armed with his wall of books, Morwen thought her father had taken comfort in knowing that in a pinch, he could disarm any of these doughty men with some well-placed facts. Or an atlas to the forehead.

She noted some perspiration on Amarthor's upper lip and forehead, however, so perhaps she had read his feelings incorrectly. She glanced at Gaeron and caught his eye. For the first time in her life, she sat at her father's right hand while Gaeron had to sit on Amarthor's left with his wife. Gaeron made a scratching motion behind his ear, then inclined his head toward their father. She frowned, hoping Amarthor wouldn't be reduced to forming ear tufts before the formalities had begun.

As a man of letters, Amarthor had prepared to meet with solicitors learned in marriage contracts and perhaps the odd clerk of the seals as he had done for Gaeron's marriage. While some could argue that such creatures were less to be desired than all things, as a scholar her father could at least drone in long, nonsensical terms with the worst of them. But he had never learned the language of spears. He'd left that to Gaeron.

Not one of the three languages known to the family could help anyway. There was no speaking to the Rohirrim. Not directly. Nor did it seem advisable. They were grim-faced men and their words to their lord were spoken in dour accents in their own tongue. Even Gaeron's expression suggested that Thengel seemed to be a poor sample of what his countrymen were like en mass. For the first time, Morwen considered the degree to which Gondor had influenced Thengel.

His witnesses chose to stand along the curious walls of books rather than take seats at the table with Thengel and the king's councilor. They were each of them tall, though not as tall as Gaeron. But their frames were wider like Thengel's. Most of them appeared near in age to their prince except for one youth who stood nearest the door and seemed to drown in his gear a little. Also like Thengel, they had ice-blue eyes that revealed little but observed much. Next to Thengel, their long flaxen hair and long beards appeared almost wild. Braids kept the strands from getting in their eyes and beards. With their spears in hand, Morwen thought they resembled a living blond palisade.

"Daughter," Amarthor murmured. Morwen caught him scratching behind his ear. She tapped his arm to get him to stop. "Those men look dangerous."

"I hope so," Morwen whispered back. "They're the king's Riders responsible for hunting orcs."

Morwen glanced keenly across the table. Thengel assured her that the weapons present were ceremonial only, but when pressed, he had to admit that the weapons present were also and most often used…unceremonialy.

One specimen displayed a vast series of notches cut into the ash shaft. She wondered if that represented the amount of marriage negotiations its owner had witnessed…or how many orcs it had skewered. When Gaeron had seen the weapons, he'd gone back to his room to strap on his sword. Morwen couldn't tell if he meant to save face in the presence of other warriors or if he simply felt left out.

"While I've given my consent to your suitor to pursue this step, perhaps we should reconsider before the clerk writes down anything binding," her father suggested.

"You might have a revolt on your hands if you try to back out," Morwen whispered in return. And she would lead the charge — at barely a canter, admittedly.

"Elendil preserve us." Amarthor made the sign of the eight-pointed star under the table. "Can you be happy among such people?"

"I don't mind Gaeron most of the time and he's a leaf from the same tree." She added, "Remember the words of Hallacar: Faint heart never won fair…er, princeling."

"You know how I loathe an unfaithful extract, my dear," Amarthor sniffed.

"Sorry, Father."

Gwereneth, who sat on Morwen's right, skewered her husband with a look, which seemed to suggest he toughen up for once. Her mother's vinegar expressions alone counted for at least five of those spearmen.

Thengel sat at the opposite end of the table conferring in a rolling, rumbling dialog with the elder who had traveled with Thengel's kinsmen to represent the king's household. The man's advanced years showed plainly in the flowing white braids that covered his chest and in the lines of his eyes that resembled the mouths of Entwash. Yet he seemed hale. Thengel had surprised Morwen by telling her that Huna had only a few more winters tucked under his belt than her father had. To her eye, Amarthor looked more than a decade younger. Yet Huna's heavy spear rested against Amarthor's neatly polished antique vitrine, which had once belonged to Nimruzimîr, the fifteenth prince of Dol Amroth and Morwen's great-great-great-great grandfather. The weapon looked weathered and even sported an interesting, possibly morbid stain on the shaft near the point.

The discourse continued between Thengel and the councilor for several minutes. During this time, Tathren slipped into the room along with the family's solicitor, the clerk of the seals, and the elentir whom she had let into the house after offering to wait for them to arrive. They joined Gaeron on his side of the table.

Then Thengel and Huna came to an understanding if their mutual nodding indicated anything. The two turned their attention to the Lossarnach end of the table. The elder rose and bowed deeply to Amarthor. He began to speak in a rolling cadence, pausing briefly to allow Thengel to translate for him.

"I, Huna Hunsige's son, warden and chief councilor to the King of the Mark, speak on my lord's behalf. Greetings to you, Amarthor Galador's son, the second of that name, and to all of your family."

Huna, via Thengel, laid out the purpose of the meeting: Thengel's proposal of marriage to Morwen. He then named the witnesses he had brought at Thengel's bidding. Though the names rolled together, their connection to Thengel stood out to Morwen. Three were the sons of his aunt Folcswithe on his father's side — or Fengel's sister-sons as Thengel had called them.

Eadræd
Eadelmes
Eadmund

They were older than Thengel by some years but most resembled him in the bone.

Four Riders were nephews and a grandnephew of the late Queen Ælfwyn.

Ælfmere
Æþelwine
Ælfsige
Ælfstan Ælfmere's son

The final five had trained with Thengel as Riders years ago in Edoras and had agreed to stand as witnesses.

Cenwold
Godwines
Kar
Frerþ
Wulfsige

Thus having named all of the groom's witnesses, Huna spoke again. Thengel addressed the next speech to the Gondorian solicitors. "Fengel King's councilors thoroughly studied the family lines provided by Amarthor's representatives at the king's request." He exhaled briefly, then said, "It is the conclusion of the council that Thengel son of Fengel and Morwen daughter of Amarthor share no close kinship that would prevent the union."

To no one's surprise or disappointment but the king's? Morwen bit her cheek to keep her expression as neutral as possible. She would have been shocked if they had managed to scare up a close relation. Outward appearances, she had thought, would be an obvious indicator if the fact of their nations of birth weren't.

Next, there seemed to be a minor skirmish between Huna and Thengel concerning wording. Huna threw his hands in the air. Thengel cleared his throat, shot a parting glare at Huna, and then — Morwen assumed — paraphrased.

"In that regard, Fengel King has raised no material objection to his heir's choice of bride, finding her of noble blood, possessing such kinship and connections as befits a consort of the line of Eorl."

Morwen blinked at Thengel who studiously did not return her gaze. In fact, he seemed to be enamored with the bowl of roses she had set at the center of the table earlier. She would wheedle out the full text from Thengel later. She could at least conclude from the abstract that Fengel had been busy digging for blemishes. Even if objections had not been officially raised, the king's opinion of Morwen had been clear and less than sanguine if the empty trunk meant anything. She didn't expect diplomacy or acceptance from Fengel now, but it seemed that Thengel might have hoped otherwise.

"Will Lord Amarthor permit Fengel's son and heir to offer his pledge of marriage to his daughter Morwen?" Thengel asked for Huna.

Though Morwen had grown occupied trying to listen for double meanings, the formal language had had a reviving effect on Amarthor. In fact, he looked a little peppery having heard the House of Eorl outline in specific terms that it felt satisfied that the blood of Númenor and possibly of Elves had passed muster to mingle with its own. It worked on her father like smelling salts. The scratching stopped.

"Will you consent to hear Lord Thengel's pledge?" Amarthor asked Morwen with frost in his tone. Under his breath, he muttered, "Northern upstarts."

Morwen ignored the parting barb and simply answered, "I will."

Thengel smiled at her briefly. She found herself returning it.

Amarthor cleared his throat and rose from his seat. He bowed his head in a show of gracious condescension that Morwen didn't find necessary. "His lordship may present his terms and provisions," he answered dryly. Then he sat down again.

While Thengel detailed the riches he had brought from Minas Tirith as surety of his ability to provide for a wife and guard against her future, his kinsmen placed two chests on the table. He had taken back Turgon's key from Morwen so that he could present it with the other goods, which included the gold provided by the Steward for geunnan. In addition to the itemized recitation, Thengel indicated the weight of each chest. This would be used later as a safeguard against faulty memories. When the full tale of gifts had been told, Morwen felt the spears made more sense to the ritual. Enough treasure now resided in one place to make a highwayman salivate.

From her family's blank expressions, it appeared that Thengel had been modest not only about his wealth but also about how much Turgon valued his service to Gondor. It had been well and thoroughly compensated if what lay before them demonstrated the portion allotted to Morwen alone for herself and whatever children there might be.

Then Thengel signaled to one of his cousins. Ælfsige stepped forward and laid a long sword in its scabbard on the table. An artificer had richly clasped the scabbard with gold and set it with green gems. The wooden upper and lower guards and the grip had been polished to a high shine and the pommel-cap and fastenings were fabricated in gold showing horses entwined in the knotwork peculiar to the Northmen.

Herugrim Thengel named it, as he revealed the naked blade. More of the same knotwork from the pommel-cap had been etched onto the steel shaft. He explained to her family that the weapon would belong to their children. The sight of it on the table, though richly made, caused Morwen to shiver. A grim tool for grim work. It was the first time she had ever looked at a sword from the perspective of a mother. A future mother, at any rate. What were conditions like in the Mark that a parent's first plans for his children included a sword? Morwen's first gift had been a rattle filled with apple seeds. She had to consider that her quiet upbringing in mild Lossarnach might be wildly different from her children's.

The spearmen's frowns lengthened when it came time for the brýdgifu or dowry. Amarthor's solicitors presented Thengel with legal documents weighted down with seals, outlining what her parents would provide for her along with language maintaining Lord Amarthor and his heirs' right to intervene for her legally after her marriage should she be undefended by her husband either by death, absence, or neglect. Upon her marriage, she would become a subject of Rohan. If she was widowed without children, her status as a subject would revert to Gondor where she would return to the protection of her family.

Amarthor hadn't asked Morwen if she had wanted such a provision and this was the first she'd heard of it. And as the women in the room were not invited to participate in the inspection of the gifts, Morwen began to feel edged out. She glanced at her mother. Gwerenth's eyes were glued to the table, taking in the treasure that had been revealed and she seemed to be keeping a catalog of her own.

While Thengel read the terms to Huna and the witnesses, Gaeron and the clerk of seals laid another casket of gold on the table. Per Thengel's instructions, Amarthor had the dowry assembled for inspection along with the contract. The storm clouds that had started brewing over Thengel's witnesses after the solicitor had unrolled the contract began to subside now that they had something tangible to view.

Huna gestured to the witnesses who rose to inspect the offerings from both sides. One by one they murmured to Huna or nodded brusquely. After them, Amarthor, his solicitor, and Gaeron inspected the gifts as well. The clerk cataloged everything as items were called out.

Satisfied that everything had been inspected, debated, and codified, Amarthor bowed, signaling his satisfaction and for his solicitor to continue.

"Will Lord Amarthor pledge his kinswoman Morwen as a wife in lawful matrimony to Thengel who desires her in exchange for the gifts as promised before witnesses?"

"Will you consent to have this fellow for your husband?" Amarthor asked Morwen. He sounded mollified by the bounty. A rich northern upstart proved less of an irritant, it seemed.

Morwen met Thengel's gaze. For a moment it felt like only the two of them were in the room. "I will," she answered.

"Then I will pledge my daughter to Lord Thengel," her father pronounced in a rare fit of independence. Only belatedly did he remember to turn to his wife for a sign of her approval. "That is…her mother and I…"

Thengel touched the place over his heart and bowed his head. He briefly caught Morwen's eye as he turned to translate for Huna giving her a pleased wink. Morwen began to feel a little rosy and hoped she didn't look as ridiculous as she felt happy.

The councilor rose again and spoke.

"Let the marriage bargain be made," Thengel said for him. "Thengel's kinsmen will stand surety. Who will stand surety among the bride's folk?"

"I will," Gaeron answered.

Morwen glanced at her brother. His expression seemed surprisingly neutral for the commotion he'd raised over the last few months. But at least he hadn't outright refused to participate in the meeting. Maybe falling off of a deer blind had more healing benefits than the herbs in the valley.

"Gaeron Amarthor's son will stand surety. Now, we'll have the groom's witnesses named again for the register," Amarthor's solicitor ordered as the clerk scribbled.

Thengel murmured to his kinsmen. Then each witness gave their names while the solicitor's clerk hastily wrote them down.

"Huna hlaford on Fengel cincge gewitnesse."

The solicitor's clerk blinked and hastily wrote down what he could. Morwen watched him grow a little green as the names went on. She wondered why he worried so much about them. None of the witnesses knew how to spell their names either.

Then Amarthor named their witnesses, which encompassed only her immediate male relatives. For the first time, the clerk looked like he had stopped sweating. He glanced up at the solicitor when he finished writing for one last piece that still needed to be settled before the negotiation could conclude.

The mother of the bride traditionally hired the elentir and chartrix. Gwereneth had decided not to rehire the man that Renneth had arranged to provide Gaeron and Tathren's wedding date. She made Amarthor pay extra to get the dates in advance and to provide the means for the elentir to travel from Minas Tirith for the occasion, even though the ritual had become a mere formality with the earlier release of the dates.

The elentir had brought with her hand-drawn and illuminated natal charts that Morwen could appreciate for their intricacy, precision, and beauty. Families who could afford elaborate charts would keep and preserve the documents along with their prized genealogical records. But unlike most families in Gondor, this particular set had a flaw or weakness.

Thengel didn't know his exact birth date or the time, just that he'd made his appearance in Meduseld in the middle of the afternoon a week or so after the summer solstice thirty-eight summers ago. The lack of specifics made it challenging to be exact when drawing the charts.

Then a brief skirmish broke out over locations and whether or not the wedding would be held in Imloth Melui or Minas Tirith. This would impact the charts too, which is why they came in a set. Amarthor strongly argued for Imloth Melui and the advantage of his larger library while everyone else argued for the city.

"A lord of the Mark can't be married out of a backwater place like Imloth Melui," Gwereneth told her husband with umbrage. "Angelimir will be in attendance this time. In Minas Tirith, he can lodge in his own residence at his convenience and comfort."

Amarthor eventually subsided when he realized it would make the wedding more convenient for his grander cousin, even if he had to sacrifice. That fixed the wedding for Minas Tirith. The elentir rearranged her canvases, selecting the chart for the city wedding.

While the woman explained the transits to both parties, Morwen sneaked a peek at the list of dates jotted down. She knew right away which one she preferred. Unfortunately, the possibility of bad travel conditions meant Thengel's witnesses and the king's councilor might not agree.

Finally, when all the important aspects had been scrutinized, the auspicious dates were given to the rest of the group who couldn't get a glimpse of them as she had. Morwen held her breath. Gwereneth tapped on the list of dates and gave Amarthor a pointed look.

"Ringarë of this year, 2943," he wheezed. "The fifth day of the third week."

Morwen noticed Thengel exhale in relief and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. The other dates would have pushed out the wedding anywhere from twelve to eighteen months. That seemed like a blink of an eye for Gondorian engagements but a lifetime by the standard of the Northmen.

Thengel consulted with Huna. The councilor's expression remained inscrutable. Finally, he nodded.

"Agreed," Thengel answered.

"I must give one word of caution," the elentir interrupted. "The eclipses fall close to the winter solstice this year. You may expect a little turbulence in your planning as they herald in a fresh start for the couple in sudden ways."

Morwen's throat tightened as she noticed her mother taking this to heart. Gwereneth began to shuffle through the chart information again.

"We've had enough turbulence for one year," Gwereneth groused, pointedly not looking at her son and daughter-in-law. "Amarthor?"

"Whatever you think is best," Amarthor demurred. He'd started scratching behind his ear at the use of the word "sudden."

"The winter solstice is an auspicious time to the Rohirrim," Thengel interjected. "We are satisfied with the date."

To Morwen's relief, Gwereneth subsided after only one click of her tight jaw. "Very well. We'll be guided by the groom in this instance."

Thengel related this to Huna who then rose and began a long speech. Morwen caught Thengel masking a grimace as it continued without pause, perhaps trying to remember it all or hoping for a break soon. Then Huna bowed once more and resumed his seat. When Thengel didn't immediately translate, Huna made an impatient gesture for him to begin. Morwen covered her mouth to keep from laughing during this solemn occasion when Thengel gave the counselor an ironic nod, perhaps as a thanks for making his task as translator more difficult.

Thengel cleared his throat. "We declare ourselves witnesses that Morwen daughter of Amarthor is bound in lawful betrothal to Thengel son of Fengel, and that with a handshake both houses are pledged in marriage in exchange for the promised handgeld and morgengifu, and engaged to fulfill and observe the whole of the oath between them, which has been said in the hearing of witnesses without wile or cunning, as a true and honest oath…and Béma save me if I left anything out…"

Huna's hoary eyebrows rose at the mention of the lord of horses and the hunt, who hadn't been referenced in his original speech. She wondered how he felt about Thengel taking liberties in his role as translator.

The solicitor rose. "That is the conclusion of the bridal negotiations, I believe," he droned. "Lord Thengel, if you would sign—"

"The negotiations end with the handa sallen," Thengel repeated from Huna's speech. "Then it is finished."

"No, it isn't," Gwereneth piped up.

Everyone stared at her and their shoulders drooped at the thought of a prolonged debate.

"We've closed the financial matters and settled the date," Gwereneth pointed out. "But neither the groom nor one of these egregiously armed fellows or King Fengel's councilor have said one word about the presence and obligation of the groom's family at the ceremony."

Thengel tensed as his witnesses waited for him to translate. Though they did not know the language, they certainly seemed to understand the lady's tone. Their expressions grew expectant.

Rather than translating, however, Thengel cleared his throat. "Lady, you must know that the king has no intention that he or his household, beyond that of the witnesses, will attend the wedding."

"Nonsense." Gwereneth stabbed the tabletop with her bony finger. "Not only is it the wedding of his child, but of his heir. He must be present and take part in the ceremony, Thengel."

"It is not possible," Thengel replied gravely.

"Mother, I wouldn't press it," Morwen warned.

"Of course it's possible," Gwereneth stated, raising her hand to silence Morwen. "The man has a heartbeat, doesn't he?"

"Doubtful," Thengel muttered.

Gwereneth's brow furrowed. "You've discussed it with him, then?" she pressed, "in one of your missives? The king has given you a blank refusal?"

Thengel regarded her with a stony expression. "No."

"But you will write to him."

"No."

"Well then, young man, we are going over your head." Gwereneth turned to her husband. "If Fengel won't come willingly, then we'll find another way."

"Mother, please. You can't bully a king…" Morwen tried to argue.

Gwereneth gave Morwen a sharp look. "I have no intention of bullying a king. But a man may be reasoned with." Then Thengel received a glare, which he had to share with Huna. "After the king's behavior toward my daughter, he had better just watch out. The Steward's financial intervention doesn't erase Fengel's willful negligence as a father and the head of his house — a house that you are bringing my daughter into. Showing up to legitimize the occasion is the least the king can do."

Morwen had no idea what Fengel looked like, but in her mind, he suddenly resembled the transgressing clothmonger but in finer clothes and wearing a crooked circlet. The Golden Hall didn't know what lay in store for it now that Gwereneth had taken notice.

"Mother, you should leave this to Thengel," Gaeron tried to warn. "We don't fully understand the dynamics at play."

Morwen felt that was the first sensible thing her brother had said in weeks. She smiled at him and hoped his words demonstrated a turning of the tide in his choleric opinions regarding her marriage.

Gwereneth rounded on her family, her disgust apparent. "What is this so-called king going to do? Invade Gondor? Send chests full of nothing if the Steward calls for aid?" she groused. "His couriers have more to fear from him than I have. And he had better just watch himself."

"But…" Morwen began to argue again but was cut off when she saw Thengel's vacant expression. She thought maybe he had stopped breathing. She bit her lip, thinking rapidly.

With a nod, she gestured for the elentir and the solicitor and clerk to make their exit. "If you would wait outside with the contract, we'll sign in the manor hall." Then she said, "Thengel, you should probably dismiss your men."

He blinked slowly as if his mind had wandered as far away from the table as possible. "Hm? Oh. Yes."

Thengel murmured something to his kinsmen. Most of them were solemn-eyed, but Morwen noticed one or two who looked like they might be biting the insides of their cheeks. But Huna shook his head gravely and rose to his feet. He signaled to the others to follow him from the room. The one cousin most definitely biting his cheek, Ælfsige, noticed her watching him and she thought he might have winked just before turning away.

When they were gone, Morwen continued with, "What if Thengel doesn't want his father at the wedding? Consider his feelings." She rose and went to sit in Huna's vacated seat next to Thengel. She gripped his hand in both of hers. "Would you be able to enjoy yourself if your father did attend?"

Thengel smiled but there was ice in his expression. "I never considered it either way because it's not a possibility. Lady Gwereneth, there aren't enough wargs in the Misty Mountains to chase my father to Gondor."

"I don't know about wargs," Gwereneth sniffed. "But King Fengel has never reckoned with me."

"I suggest you don't trouble yourself, lady."

"Thengel, we haven't questioned Morwen's choice of a husband but it seems to me that her relationship with you has put her in an ugly position where your family and countrymen are concerned," Gwereneth fumed in a cold tone. "We made no obstacles for you after you wrote to us of your father's lack of cooperation. So you'll excuse me if I do trouble myself on her behalf now." She bristled as if warming to the topic after trying to shove it down for some time. "And frankly, on your behalf, too. Your father should be ashamed of himself. If I have to be the one to tell him so, then so be it." Gwereneth turned her sights on her husband, who looked thoroughly cornered. "And it's time for you to call in a favor with your cousins."

"My cousins, Gwereneth?" Amarthor stammered as he scratched.

"Yes. I doubt Turgon will be much moved by you, but he'll bend his ear to Angelimir. It's about time the prince made it up to the family for being too important to attend Gaeron's wedding."

"But his ship hadn't returned from cruising — "

"Never mind why he missed the wedding. It's immaterial," Gwereneth barked. "Between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, the king can't help but budge from his lair. Then there won't be any room left for doubt over its legitimacy."

Morwen clamped her mouth shut after it fell open during her mother's speeches. Had Gwereneth just referred to Meduseld as a lair? In Thengel's hearing….

"My dear, even if I could…" Amarthor began.

"I could approach Angelimir," Gaeron offered.

Gwereneth gave her son a sharp look. "You have enough problems of your own without getting involved in Morwen's."

Gaeron subsided. Tathren turned red.

Thengel mastered himself enough to interrupt the family squabble. "All this effort will lead to nothing. You underestimate my father's stubbornness."

Gwereneth rose to her feet, hand gripping the back of Morwen's vacated chair while the other anchored her hip. "And you underestimate me, Thengel. The immovable object is about to meet the irresistible force. Mark my words."

Then she swept out of the room, gesturing for everyone to follow her to the manor hall to complete the ritual.