A Consolation of Princes Part II: A Revolt of Kings
Chapter 8: A Revolt of Kings, Part 2

Morwen slipped Gaeron's stallion a carrot while her brother and sister-in-law said goodbye to one another in the yard. Bruidal looked imposing even though the bright summer sun had turned his black coat rusty in patches. But he liked to make a fool of himself just to get an apple or a carrot out of her, so she made sure to be armed with treats in his presence. Thengel had given her the idea years ago when she was trying to get over her fear of the stallion. Bruidal had barely finished chewing her first tribute before he started to dance for another one.

"Do you have everything you need for the journey?"

Before Gaeron could answer Tathren, Gwereneth breezed out of the house to join everyone in the dooryard. She handed him a flat letter with Amarthor's seal on it.

"This is a betrothal announcement for Lord Turgon so he isn't broadsided by Angelimir. Give it to the Steward yourself no matter how hard the Tower staff try to seize it from you with promises to hand deliver it," Gwereneth ordered. "It'll be in transit throughout the Tower for a month otherwise."

"Thengel likely told him already," Morwen pointed out. "Turgon's like a second father."

"I don't deal in assumptions, Morwen. That's how plans fall apart. With this letter, I'll know that he knows." Gwereneth gave Gaeron a second thick letter that also sported Amarthor's seal and a few other embellishments beside. "That's for Angelimir. Deliver it straight to his offices on the Harlond. There's always a fast ship heading back to him."

Gaeron slipped the letters into his pack. "Is there anything else, Mother?"

"Send an express the instant you've had an audience with the Steward. I will send you directions on how to proceed with him."

It had taken only a week after their return from Arnach to break Mother down. At the negotiation, she had insisted that Gaeron not get involved in the scheme to frogmarch Fengel to Gondor for the wedding. But when it became clear that Amarthor couldn't rise beyond a letter-writing campaign, Gwereneth had been forced to enlist additional aid.

Morwen and Gaeron had debated over his participation amongst themselves. Both of them knew how Thengel felt about their mother's scheme. She had begged Gaeron to refuse to help, hoping that a lack of cooperation would dissolve her mother's ambitions for the wedding. It seemed, however, that Gwereneth's growing impatience had found an outlet in persecuting her daughter-in-law. Morwen conceded to spare Tathren and only hoped that Thengel had spoken truly about his father's stubbornness.

"Are you certain you don't want to come with me?" he asked their mother. "Wouldn't it be easier to boss Turgon directly?"

"Don't be foolish," Gwereneth sniffed. "I have my hands full now that I have a house to make livable on top of a wedding to plan. Galavanting off to Minas Tirith is out of the question. I'm spread entirely too thin."

Not thin enough. Morwen's shoulders bunched at the mention of the Arnach house. She needed to have that conversation before her mother razed the place down to its foundations. She hadn't thought of it at the time, but now she found it unfair of Thengel to leave her to sort out her mother instead of letting her run away with him. After all, he'd run away from his father twenty years earlier. It stood to reason that she be allowed to do the same.

"Suit yourself." Gaeron kissed Tathren's cheek, then mounted Bruidal. Morwen stepped away so he could turn in the yard. "Expect me back in a week unless Turgon makes me sit on my hands waiting for him."

"I won't," Gwereneth grumbled. "Men don't have a proper sense of urgency when it comes to planning a wedding."

Tathren threaded her arm through Gwereneth's, leading her back toward the house. "And yet everything manages to get done on time." She winked at Morwen. "Speaking of which, I believe there are a few more horses left to complete."

Morwen began to follow, but from the corner of her eye, she saw the shapes of her neighbors appearing from the woods. With the return of good weather, the manor hall saw a return of guests. And so after a few weeks with Thengel, the neighborhood and Amarthor's household had fallen right back into their usual pattern since the start of summer. Morwen had returned to being the local curiosity.

This time, the neighbors had come to hear about Morwen's new estate. She left the task of describing its vices and virtues to Gwereneth, especially since she could only describe the library. Despite her mother's criticisms, the description of the splendor of the Steward's old manor led to Nenniel's tea spoon growing increasingly bent in her tight fist.

Later, when Gwereneth had gone to see Nathal, Nenniel, and Eglanor to the door, Morwen and Tathren escaped outside into the sunlight. Their footsteps crunched over the gravel walkway as Morwen led her sister-in-law down a path toward the center of the garden, away from the house.

They both agreed that Nenniel hadn't thawed much since her last visit when she'd left them each the questionable gift. It helped that Morwen listened to her plans for wildflower garlands and bouquets while noting that her own wedding would be lacking them at the dead end of the year. Nenniel had smirked and said that at least Morwen would have a set of unique toy horses for decoration.

"Some might say that hobby horses were a little on the nose for a Rohirric wedding, but not me," Nenniel had insisted.

Morwen had taken the remarks in the spirit in which they were intended. Trying to remain pleasant in her neighbor's company had grown increasingly tedious.

"I think Nenniel must have sat on one of the hobby horse rods by accident," Morwen muttered as they escaped into the rose garden.

"She has a consistent character," Tathren agreed.

Morwen rubbed her brow where a dull ache had formed. "Maybe she's right and the whole thing is ridiculous. Between her and Ælfsige, I'm beginning to regret ever having the idea. Only it's too late to turn back now. I can't break my word to Thengel. He's set on observing all of their wedding customs."

Tathren waited a moment before broaching a question. "Have you thought about what happens to all of the horses after the wedding?"

Morwen blinked at her. After the wedding? "I'm not sure anything exists beyond the wedding." She squinted at the clouds overhead. "Don't we simply disappear into the void?"

Tathren gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know that feeling. And I know it's difficult to bend your mind in that direction while in the middle of planning, so I've helped you out — but only if you want it. Tell me if I've overstepped."

"What did you have in mind?"

Tathren held up a letter that she retrieved from the pouch on her belt. "It's from Father regarding the project. He indicated that he can help in a unique way."

Morwen eyed the letter a little nervously. She had a long-held suspicion that Tathren's parents didn't like her. "How?"

"Well." Tathren unfolded the letter. "He's a merchant, understand, so he tends to look at things as commodities. He believes that you might be able to make some money."

Morwen's thoughts went to the handful of horses in her mother's room. Some of them still had straw sticking out from the gap in the seams that hadn't been closed. Ælfsige's criticism came to mind. She couldn't imagine getting much for them.

"I'm sure anyone who wanted a hobby horse could find a much more convincing specimen at a toy stall in the city."

"But those weren't crafted for a royal wedding," Tathren explained. "People would pay a lot of money for a souvenir sewn by the next queen of Rohan."

Morwen felt doubtful. "But those are the shabbiest ones."

Eglanor's aside.

"Rustic valley aesthetic," Tathren corrected her with an urchin grin Morwen hadn't seen on her sister-in-law before. "The official style of the royal nuptial merchandise."

Merchandise! That seemed like a stretch. "Would people want them?"

Ælfsige would be the first to decline, Morwen thought.

"It only takes a few people to actually want them. The key is getting the attention of a few well-placed individuals. A limited stock will sell the rest." Tathren winked at her. "No one wants to miss out on a rare memento."

"Huh." Morwen bit her lip. A memento? "And then what?"

"Nothing. You have no mess on your hands and a neat pile of money that you earned." The corner of Tathren's mouth curled upward again. "And you can remind them of it the next time a table full of men want to talk around you."

Morwen liked the sound of having her own place at the table for once, provided the outcome justified the effort required. "But how will we sell them?"

"That's where Father can help. He frequently works with auction houses in Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth to move some of his high-end wares. They'll receive a cut, of course, but that's the cost of doing business. He can get you a deal with the director in Minas Tirith."

A pool lay at the center of the rose garden where birds had been bathing. They flew away as the women approached. Morwen paused there and sat on the edge while she thought over this new information.

"What gave your father the idea?" she asked.

Tathren colored a little as she joined Morwen. "I did. That is, it's really my idea." She gave Morwen the letter to scan for herself. "It didn't seem like you'd considered what to do with the horses. So I came up with a solution and asked Father for his advice."

Morwen reached over and gripped her sister-in-law's hand, grinning at her. "That's clever, Tathren, and thoughtful."

She brushed away Morwen's praise. "I grew up among tradesmen. One tends to see everything with a price tag. It's hardly a virtue."

"It is clever," Morwen insisted. "And you've saved me from a pitfall. After surprising Thengel with the horses, I'd have to surprise him again by filling both houses with toys."

A small war had been brewing between Morwen and Amarthor's foreman over the crowded sheds. Morwen doubted Thengel's attics could store everything.

A mischievous twinkle appeared in Tathren's eyes. "That's one method to keep your mother out of them, at least."

Morwen laughed, warming to the idea the more Tathren explained it, especially the part where the income would be her own. Her plan of gambling with her father hadn't profited at all except for giving her a little extra pocket money. But only one burr under the saddle troubled her, as she had heard Æthelwine say once.

"I didn't make them all myself," she considered. "I'd have to pay the women who helped."

"Morwen, nobody expected payment when they began sewing for you. These are wedding decorations and your family supplied all of the materials. How you dispose of them after the wedding is your business."

Morwen hoped that was true. She'd hate to be unfair. "Thank you, Tathren. I will accept your help and your father's."

"Good. Have you thought about other wares you could sell?" Tathren asked.

"Such as?"

"Oh, dining plates with the couple's silhouettes painted on with the wedding date, that sort of thing."

Morwen wrinkled her nose in disgust and rose to head back into the house. "Let's not get carried away." She sighed. "Besides, we still haven't finished all of the horses yet."

As they returned down the path, she felt gratified by Tathren's thoughtfulness and impressed by her resourceful mind. Morwen had a genius for people, but she could see that Tathren had a mind much more like Gwereneth's. But Tathren had a warmer manner and a better sense of humor, which drew Morwen to her. If it always felt this nice to have sisters, she wished she'd had one before now.

…

Two weeks later, Morwen and Tathren had spent the morning cooing over the rose seedlings in the greenhouse before the gardener got tired of them and chased them out. They were inspecting the crates in one of the sheds before returning to the house when Gaeron arrived unexpectedly from Minas Tirith.

The sound of stamping hooves and jingling of gear drew both women to the door of the shed. Tathren saw Gaeron first and stepped out to wave him over to the shed. Morwen felt a little twinge of relief to see Tathren smile at Gaeron with unalloyed happiness as he dismounted. They hadn't spoken of the troubles since Gwereneth had tactlessly referenced them at the marriage negotiation, but it looked like things had improved a good deal.

He kissed Tathren. Then inspecting their work, he lifted one of the completed horses out of an open crate. "Since when were horses the color of pea soup?" he asked.

"Mother especially wanted to get rid of that fabric," Morwen said in their defense.

"You're home early," Tathren observed, interrupting any further critique. "You wrote last that you'd be gone for another week."

"Yes, so I thought." He turned back to face them. "But that all changed last night. We've had news from the Tower. The king is coming to the wedding after all."

Morwen stared blankly. "What king?"

Tathren gave her a concerned look. "I believe he means Fengel."

Fengel? Morwen refused to believe it. Gaeron must be mistaken — perhaps an error in translation. On the list of kings who were likely to attend her wedding, the king of the Wood Elves would have appeared higher than that of the Mark. It simply couldn't be.

"Of course I mean Fengel," Gaeron boomed. "Who else?"

"Stars." Morwen sank onto a sealed crate. "How do you know?"

"Adrahil told me. I wrote you that he arrived in town for the rest of the summer to present his expedition findings to the Steward and the Archive masters."

Morwen pressed her fingers into her eyes. "I remember."

"Adrahil had it from Angelimir to present our father's request regarding Fengel to Turgon. Then Turgon charged Adrahil with communicating the result back to Angelimir. Well, the Steward received a reply from Rohan two days ago," he explained. "Since I had remained in the city, Adrahil told me, too."

"So Mother's plan worked?" Morwen groaned.

"Have you ever known one of Mother's schemes to go amiss?" Gaeron asked dryly. "You know how it is. The Steward always considers the princes of Dol Amroth. Once Mother had Angelimir in her corner, little could oppose her."

Morwen felt her face going tingly and numb as she forgot to breathe. She didn't know if Thengel would ever forgive them for this. Would he regret choosing her? What other woman's family had the connections and means to force contact with his father again after so many years? Very few.

"How did Angelimir and Turgon manage it?" she asked weakly.

"Adrahil said that Angelimir cooked up some plot to frame the wedding as a renewing of the Oath of Cirdan," Gaeron explained.

"Eorl," Morwen murmured. No one heard her.

"Turgon latched onto the idea and dispatched an emissary to Meduseld, posthaste. To sweeten the pot, Turgon plans to present Rohan with gold and other gifts as a token of appreciation for Thengel's twenty years of service. Fengel couldn't refuse without either losing face or forfeiting his position along with the gold to Thengel as the official representative of the Mark. You know he'll never allow Thengel to show him up, even if it means doing something he hates."

Morwen cringed. "You mean they're going to treat this like it's a marriage alliance?" She remembered Thengel's admission that Fengel had spread rumors that she was a tool to turn her future husband into Turgon's puppet. This news would only corroborate the story.

Then another thought struck her. "Wait. What are these other gifts? Turgon doesn't mean me?"

Gaeron scratched the back of his head. "I suppose that's open to interpretation."

Morwen slumped against the pile of crates.

"Does that surprise you, Morwen?" Tathren reasoned, "Who's to say your marriage to Thengel isn't reinforcing the bonds between our nations — whether you intended it or not?"

"But we already have the Oath," Morwen insisted. "Thengel's fulfilling it right now alongside Ecthelion."

"Well," Gaeron drawled. "Now it's going to be doubly oathed."

Tathren winced at the poor language. "Oh, Gaeron."

Morwen didn't care about that. She could just see Angelimir and Turgon congratulating themselves for so cleverly maneuvering the Lord of the Mark and turning the wedding to the country's benefit even though it would be torture for Thengel. She felt like she had become complicit in something distasteful without being asked to consent. On top of that, she now knew they could no longer enjoy a private family wedding.

"Does Thengel know?" she asked.

Gaeron shrugged. "Doubtful. We've only just found out. Ecthelion has them encamped nearly on the marches between Ithilien and the wastelands. They can probably smell the Dead Marshes in their sleep. It's nearly into noman-land and dangerous. Nothing short of a red arrow would be worth delivering."

Morwen grimaced. Nervous energy thrummed in her limbs. She pushed herself off the crate and began to pace in the shed. She felt for Thengel all the way out in Ithilien without a clue about what Turgon and Angelimir had orchestrated in his absence at her own family's bidding.

"If Fengel travels to Minas Tirith for the wedding, Thengel will be miserable."

"I know." Gaeron cleared his throat as he watched her pace. "And that's not my only news."

Morwen stopped and looked at him. "There's more?"

Gaeron nodded. "Eh, your wedding date…"

"What about it?" she winced.

"It's got to be moved up," he told her. "The Rohirrim can't guarantee the roads will be passable that late in the year. That's the excuse anyway."

Morwen felt her heart lodge in her throat. Move up the wedding? She ordered herself to remain calm and take a deep breath.

"That's better news than a delay. Right?" Then she asked, "How far up?"

Gaeron glanced between Tathren and Morwen. "Fengel's errand rider related that the king planned to arrive by the autumn equinox."

Morwen's and Tathren's mouths dropped in unison. Morwen had to sit down again.

"The end of Ivanneth?" Tathren gasped. Morwen could tell by her expression that in Tathren's mind's eye, she also beheld the piles of material that had lain in nests around their feet for weeks.

A fit of spontaneous arithmetic seized Morwen. "That's only a month away…he's giving us no time at all!"

"After being strong-armed into accepting Turgon's invitation," Gaeron opined, "I guess King Fengel decided he could set the terms to suit himself."

"What are we going to do?" Morwen breathed. "Thengel doesn't know. What if he can't return from Ithilien before then? Can Ecthelion afford to lose him?"

Gaeron sat next to Morwen with his hands resting between his knees. "Seeing as it's a matter of state now," he murmured, "A solution will have to be found to get Thengel back."

"But he wanted this post," Morwen worried. She buried her fingers in her hair. "It's his way of defending Rohan from far off."

Tathren leaned down and squeezed Morwen's hand. "It's going to be all right."

Morwen breathed out slowly, gripping Tathren's fingers in her hand. "I would agree with you but all of this is happening because Mother insisted that Fengel show his face. This is our family's fault and Thengel will have every right to resent us when he finds out."

"He'll know it isn't your fault," Tathren assured her. "Besides, Fengel's the one who insisted on pushing up the date. It's his choice to be difficult. He could have responded reasonably by pushing up the wedding by only a few weeks. It makes little difference to the weather."

"He never will choose to be reasonable, though," Morwen observed. She released Tathren's hand. "He's behaved in a contrary manner from the beginning and now he has several more excuses to resent both Thengel and Turgon, which will only make him crosser still. Who knows how he'll behave when he arrives."

"Look on the bright side," Gaeron countered. "In another month, you won't have to deal with King Fengel again in this life."

"I suppose," Morwen agreed. Perhaps that would ease things for Thengel too.

"Until the babies come and your mother insists that he turn up for the naming," Tathren mumbled.

Morwen stared at her sister-in-law. "Mother wouldn't."

Gaeron looked bleak. "She might." He rubbed his brow. "If it's a boy anyway. Then it's a matter of state again."

Tathren frowned at Gaeron.

"What?" he asked. "There's no reason for him to come all this way for a girl."

Tathren frowned at him harder.

"Don't stare at me like that," Gaeron complained. "It's no way for a man to behave, of course, but face facts. If half of Thengel's stories are true then Fengel has no family feeling whatsoever. He's coming to the wedding as a king, not a father. He won't budge from Meduseld for anything less than a new heir — if even that can move him." Then he blinked. "Fengel could even decide to summon Morwen to bring the child to him. She isn't barred from entering Rohan."

And she could just picture the look on Thengel's face if Fengel ever dared suggest that.

Morwen held her hands up. "We're getting ahead of ourselves," she reminded them. "The wedding still has to happen before we worry about any future beyond it."

"Perhaps your mother will learn her lesson from the wedding," Tathren offered, looking repentant for putting the idea about children into Morwen's head and allowing her husband to drive the point deeper. "She may decide to leave Fengel alone in the future."

"Mother believes lessons are for other people," Gaeron explained to his wife.

Morwen nodded bleakly.

"We need a plan," Gaeron continued. "First thing first. Thengel has to be retrieved."

"First, first thing," Morwen corrected. "Mother has to be told."

She rose from the crate just as anger rose with her. Gwereneth had gone too far. Perhaps Morwen felt reluctant to confront her mother over the house, but those qualms dissipated when it concerned Thengel's happiness. She marched from the shed and into the house while her brother and sister-in-law trailed her. The trio made a short and straight expedition to the only place her mother could be at that time of day. They found Gwereneth ensconced in her private sitting room.

Morwen leaned on the doorframe. "You've done it, Mother."

"What have I done?" Gwereneth sniffed without looking up from her work.

"You've gotten Fengel involved."

Gaeron pushed Morwen into the room so that he and Tathren could enter behind her. She stood in the middle of the room, stepping over pieces of horse while Gaeron's appearance got their mother's attention.

"What's this about? What are you doing at home, Gaeron? Your letter extended your stay by two weeks and it's only been one."

"Fengel agreed to attend the wedding. He's planning to leave Edoras once the king's company can be mustered," Gaeron explained. "Which means the wedding's happening in one month instead of four."

"What fool decided that?" Gwereneth demanded, casting aside her sewing. "We have a contract."

"The Lord of the Mark," Gaeron told her with a warning in his tone.

"Well." Gwereneth scoffed. "I had no idea the man would be so precipitate."

"Then you should have left the king alone, Mother," Morwen insisted. "You should have let Thengel be our guide. No one else knows Fengel's temperament better."

Gwereneth clucked her tongue, seemingly unimpressed by her daughter's censure.

Morwen felt Tathren's touch on her arm, which forestalled anything else she wished to add to her mother's blame.

"Remember what the elentir warned us about the nuptial charts?" Tathren said. "Perhaps it couldn't be helped given the aspects."

Morwen had forgotten all about the warning. How had it been worded? A fresh start in sudden ways? Well. Whether the heavens had caused it or Fengel, it certainly seemed to have come true.

"Does it matter what we blame?" Gaeron said. "Whether we like it or not, the wedding's happening in a month. That's a problem while the groom is on the other side of the river. We can grouse over Fengel or we can act."

Morwen subsided. Gaeron was right. Events had been set in motion and now they had to respond to them. But Gwereneth threw her hands in the air, having the nerve to feel aggravated by the results of a scheme she had cooked up.

"Then we're returning to Minas Tirith seemingly." She gave Gaeron a sharp look. "I don't suppose any of these bright men considered the wedding venue? There will be twice the amount of guests, at least. None of the halls in the city will be grand enough for a king and I doubt we can hire anything suitable on such short notice even if they were."

Gaeron looked relieved to have some good news. "Yes, Adrahil did mention that. He said Turgon will open Merethrond for the first time in years." Then he added, "He'll also house the king and those of his retinue."

Gwereneth nodded sharply. "I should hope so." Her hand fluttered to her forehead. "The guests…"

"Turgon's taken over management of that, too," Gaeron announced. "All the important people will have to be there, not just kin."

Gwereneth looked at her son as if that was too much to hope. "He's managing that, is he? Huh. I want to see that list before anything goes out. Important doesn't always mean suitable."

She eyed Morwen as the wheels of her mind immediately began to churn over the impact of Fengel's impending arrival on their current plans. "We'll have to completely rethink your dress."

Morwen clutched her bodice as if it were her bridal gown. "But the dressmaker's already working on it—"

Gwereneth cut her off by raising her hand. "That makes no difference. It's for the wrong season. You'll need something lighter so you don't pass out from the heat. Yavannië is plenty warm still and Merethrond steams up like a soup tureen."

But Morwen liked that dress. It was silver and wintery and didn't need much to embellish it. "Thengel will catch me."

"It's bad luck," Gaeron told her.

"Only if he drops me."

"Think of all the beautiful wildflowers you can have now," Tathren soothed.

Morwen buried her face in her hands. "But hothouse flowers were the only reason Nenniel hasn't tried to poison me a second time."

"Forget Nenniel," Gaeron groused. "If Thengel can be found and brought back, then in another couple of weeks you won't live in Imloth Melui anymore to be troubled by her."

Morwen's chest seized. Her arms fell nervelessly to her sides. She hadn't thought of that. It wasn't just the wedding that had been moved up — it was everything! There hadn't been time to consider all that would be affected by Fengel's precipitous arrival — including where she would live. Morwen's mind darted directly to her bedroom and her possessions — everything she would need to take with her.

And then what? Instead of passing the winter together in the city, Thengel would probably have to go back to Ithilien right away to complete his mission. She would have to stay in that house on the sixth circle undefended while Sadril fed her fertility potions — or worse, she'd be sent to live all alone in her widow's prison while her mother had it gutted around her. What would she do then? Collect small dogs like Lady Beriel just to pass the time?

Fengel had caught them with their hose down, as she'd heard Adrahil say once. Morwen felt an odd tottering sensation and had to sit in the chair by the corner while her family watched her slowly unravel.

"Morwen will live with us for as long as she needs," Gwereneth said, giving Gaeron a reproving look for putting his sister in a mental spiral. "In Imloth Melui or the city." She turned sharp eyes on Morwen. "We'll worry about arranging your move until after the wedding. Anything you need immediately can be gotten in Minas Tirith. Take only what you can't live without for the next few weeks."

For once Morwen found her mother's advice soothing. If only Gwereneth would also convince her that Thengel wouldn't run for Wilderland as soon as he got the news about Fengel. Just the idea of the king being urged to attend the wedding had momentarily stunned him into silence at the negotiation. A guarantee of meeting his father again had to be so, so much worse. Not knowing how he would react left her feeling cold.

Gwereneth rose from her seat. Instead of offering Morwen more assurances, she muttered, "Now for the hard part — dislodging your father from his library. Again."

Morwen would have thought the hard part would be retrieving Thengel from Ithilien but she could see her mother's point.