Morwen arrived on Guthere's threshold the next morning with an offering of lilies of the valley, "To sweeten the air," she told Cenhelm when he opened the door. "May I speak to Prince Thengel?"

Cenhelm disappeared with the mug of white bells and Prince Thengel replaced him at the door. He followed her into the corridor.

"Lady Morwen," he said.

"Prince Thengel."

Now that he was in front of her, she felt out of her depth. Gladhon had enthusiastically agreed to broach the subject of labor with the prince before they shared the evening meal. By the time the prince had returned to the sickroom, they had entered into an agreement. Although it worked to both of their advantages, the shift from benefactress to something more symbiotic left her feeling unsure of herself.

"I wanted to say how kind it is of you to lend your men to help on the plantation." Morwen tried to sound polite and cool rather than eager. "I'm grateful for it."

The prince regarded her silently as if trying to puzzle her out.

"Not at all," he eventually replied.

Morwen thought he sounded exactly the way she wanted to. Diplomatic. Detached. It was not reassuring coming from him. She still couldn't shake that awkwardness of not knowing how to respond to him. Her father would know. Randir would be warm and friendly. Until Morwen could figure out Prince Thengel, she opted for something between formality and ingratiation.

"I wouldn't allow it ordinarily," she confided, "but the storm put us behind in our preparations."

"So Gladhon said. My men are only happy to have a task to occupy their time. We are indebted to you for your kind hospitality."

She hardly thought allowing her guest to sleep on a chair and a quilt rack qualified as hospitality, but that had been Prince Thengel's choice. One night in Teitharion's cottage and two nights spent on uncomfortable chairs, using a quilt rack to prop up his legs had taken its toll on the prince. His hair would not lie down, as if it had a mind of its own or preferred to grow to show off its color and curl. It gave him a a savage aspect, though the man's face was a bit ruddy, and the expression grave rather than brutish. Not a bad face. There were a few deep lines etching along his mouth and eyes, but it looked more like exposure to the sun and wind were the culprits than age.

"Was there anything else you wanted to speak to me about?" he asked her.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," she told him. "Gildis prepared a room for you. I understand Guthere is resting well through the night and requires less care."

Prince Thengel allowed Morwen to lead him down the corridor to a doorway at the end. But she seemed to leave the prince behind as soon as she pushed the door inward, stepping into memories reborn of wafted scents of old paper, wood smoke and wax of her father's study. Morwen seldom visited this room for that very reason; the memories overwhelmed her. She breathed in the lingering aroma of sage her father used to burn to clear his mind during a complicated project, mixed with that faint whiff of scented water he wore. Hirwen used to tease him about his urbane affectations, but Minas Tirith had been his home longer than Imloth Melui. He remained unflappable. Her mother, Morwen remembered, always smelled like whatever the sun and air and earth offered up.

I'll be in the sanctuary, Randir used to say whenever he escaped to the library. If the door stood in limbo between the wall and the jamb, Morwen would climb into his lap and listen to whatever he happened to be reading. Lists of names, tomb diagrams, or odes written for the dead by their relatives, punctuated by the scratch of his pen as he took notes.

If Randir's door was shut, however, she imagined it as the entrance to a dragon's den and gave the study a wide berth. Better to face a firedrake than interrupt a scholar in the middle of a thought. On those days, she got under her mother's feet in the orchard and ate whatever the field hands gave her till her stomach ached and she got sick in the grass. She bit back a sudden grin - those stomachaches occurred more often than she ought to admit.

The presence at her back pulled Morwen into the present. She stepped out of the way to allow Prince Thengel to follow her inside the small room. It was only an antechamber of the more spacious bedroom her parents had shared. With each of his steps deeper into the room, dust motes swirled upward in the light coming in through the leaded glass.

"You may have the use of these rooms while your rider heals," she told him. She gestured to the far end of the room to a small door beside the window. "The bedroom connects to the study through that door."

"Thank you, Lady Morwen."

His tone was somber, but his eyes were sharp. They took in the room in one sweep, particularly the points of entry. But then they lingered on the floor to ceiling oak bookcases and the books stored behind leaded glass. He rested a hand on Randir's desk as if to stop himself from being transported.

"These are your books?" he asked with something like approval.

Morwen hesitated. "My father, Lord Randir's books. He was a scholar."

He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The shelves, the desk, the chairs. He eyed the painting of a ship at sea over the fireplace.

"I thought I heard Gladhon say Lord Randir served as a scribe for Lord Turgon."

"He did serve the Stewards in Minas Tirith during his younger days. His collection used to be more extensive, but he left many of his volumes to the Archives in his will." The expression on his face led her to add, "You may read whatever is left, if you like. They are little used these days."

His smile transfigured his face, the crags gone. "Which do you recommend?" he asked. "There are many to choose from."

Morwen felt heat rising up her throat. "I have not read very many myself," she admitted, to her own embarrassment. "My father was the family scholar. I used to listen to him read in the evenings, but…." She shrugged helplessly.

Reading had always been of utmost importance to her father, but she had never acquired the taste or the time. Randir used to say it was because she would not bother to make time. She flattered herself that books were the only point of contention in their relationship.

Prince Thengel's transfigured expression muted to something more human. Perhaps he recognized that she wasn't a kindred spirit. She felt a little sorry to disappoint him, but honestly, the books were not the strongest feature of Imloth Melui. What were books to trees and flowers?

"I understand," he said gravely. "I have had little time of late to read."

She doubted him, but said, "Because you were in Ithilien?"

He nodded. "Orcs have made it all but impossible for anyone to live in peace in that land."

"Then I hope you enjoy the respite. Lossarnach is the most beautiful land in Gondor. We are a peaceful fief…despite what you may have experienced of our trees."

"Thank you," he said. "I hope to find it as you say."

Morwen reached for the handle to shut the door behind her as she left, but stopped.

"Is there nothing else Gildis or I might bring you?"

He held up a hand. "My men and I already find ourselves greatly in your debt, Lady Morwen. I can fend for myself from here. Thank you."

Well, that relieved her ears, she thought. If he hadn't brought a concussed soldier to her door, she would have considered him far less maintenance as a guest than cousin Adrahil. Except with Adrahil, she tended to know where she stood. None of the stiff, formal exchanges.

"As you wish." Morwen closed the door behind her. "If you should need me, I will be in the orchard for the rest of the day."

The sun had fully crested the eastern ridge, casting its rays deep within the foothills by the time Morwen arrived at the orchard walls. When she slipped inside the gate, she entered a world of fragrance and light. Her sanctuary. She sucked in a breath as the light caught on the white and pink ribbons of blossoming fruit trees spilling down from the hills like streams running through fields of green. The cherry trees were columns in an arcade that Yavanna herself in the Uttermost West wouldn't turn away from easily. Morwen blinked away the blossoms blown down in the breeze.

A narrow, brick trail dissected the columns. As she wandered up the sloping line of fruit trees, Morwen imagined the tour she would give Adrahil and his new wife. Beldir had added the brick in the autumn especially for Aranel, who had lived in Minas Tirith all her life and who was by all accounts a very fine lady. Morwen didn't object to mud on her own boots, but she didn't think someone who grew up in a city made of stone would feel the same. It was one way of welcoming Adrahil's bride to the family.

It was too bad there weren't any actual cherries yet, Morwen reflected, or she would send Lady Aranel home with a basket. It wouldn't hurt her business if the newest princess of Dol Amroth developed a taste for Lossarnach cherry tarts, for example, and set the fashion for other fruited pastries or preserves in Minas Tirith. It was a mercenary motive, but what were relatives for? Her mother would be proud of her for advancing their goods that way. Her father would be appalled. Morwen would have to wait until she went to Minas Tirith herself in the summer to present Aranel with fruit.

The dogs found Morwen before she spotted the wiry, upright figure of the overseer. They danced around her until they had sniffed out every last scent on her dress and hands before scattering to discover other delights under the trees. She waved and Beldir acknowledged her with a nod before climbing a ladder. He had been the prop and pivot of the plantation since Lady Hirwen's death, for at the time Lord Randir knew more about maintaining an archive than an orchard. Morwen depended on Beldir to keep the farm going. Though mistress of Bar-en-Ferin in name, in reality she was more of an apprentice.

Morwen passed Gundor, the overseer's actual apprentice. Where she meant to learn everything she could from Beldir, he seemed to do the opposite. He had a knack for unlearning things as quickly as Beldir could teach him. Beldir was a principled man with exact ideas. That made him an impatient teacher. And though he had sound judgment in most cases, Gundor seemed to bring out his more tyrannical side. Gundor was his whipping post whenever anything went wrong. With the loss of half a family of workers, it had been a difficult few days. All the more reason to spend as much time as possible within the walls, Morwen reflected as the orchard echoed with the tune of birdsong and the thrum of saws.

Fortunately, the only trees that had suffered irrevocable damage from the storm were the ones that Beldir had already identified as too weakened by the winter cold. The rest would recover with careful pruning. The wind had carried away many of the blossoms, but the feast would be held near the bottom of the slope where the walls had protected the trees' crowns. Everything would be beautiful for her first feast as mistress of Bar-en-Ferin and they wouldn't be too hurt for fruit come harvest.

Morwen took a sip of water from the dipper in the rain barrel after the long walk. She watched a pair of robins hopping in the wet dirt at the bottom between the trees. The sharp crack of a heavy tree limb scattered the birds where Gladhon had been sawing. The man called Thurstan appeared to drag the branch to the burn pile. She felt happy to see them and less guilty about the arrangement. People needed something to do, after all.

Beldir, who was a few rows ahead of Morwen, worked steadily up the slope. He kept disappearing into the white crown of a tree, testing the branches or inspecting a spot on the bark before bobbing back up to prune another branch back.

Somewhere behind and closer to the wall, she overheard Gundor shriek, then hiss in pain.

She found him a few columns over. "You haven't lost a finger, I hope?" she said, nodding at his handsaw which now lay on the ground. He hopped from one foot to the other while cradling his hand to his chest.

"A bee stung me," he stammered. "Beldir always makes me work near the hives."

If by near the hives, he meant in the open air, then yes, Beldir always made him work near the hives.

"Stop waving your hand in the air and let me see."

Gundor stood as still as his nerves would allow, though his knees were knocking together. She found the waxy bump with the stinger protruding from it like a pin from a cushion. She ripped it out without warning. Gundor yelped before realizing it hadn't hurt any more than the initial sting.

"Pour some water over it." Morwen produced some linen strips from the deep pocket on her belt and a small box of ointment. "Why don't you follow Beldir for a bit and clean up the branches. If you get under his feet enough, I'll have a chance to catch up to him."

"Alright," he said, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. Branches were easier to carry than to cut. He threw in a hasty, "Thank you, my lady."

Morwen took up Gundor's deserted saw and started back where he left off, in the first column of apple trees. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and began to climb the ladder. The damaged branch hung down at an unnatural angle, nearly touching the ground. Morwen inspected the crotch where Gundor had begun to cut away the branch. She fitted the saw into the notch, reflecting how much better she preferred her area of healing to Nanneth's.

It was hard work to get the branch down, but she liked it. For the smaller branches, she used shears instead of the saw. It felt clean, somehow, clipping away at the broken tree, despite the fact that she was sweating and her hair was a frowsy mess from the wind. When her own hands started to blister without the protection of gloves, she climbed down from the ladder to clean up the sticks and branches scattered beneath the tree.

She stopped to pick at a troublesome splinter in her thumb and again regretted the loss of gloves. She'd had to lend her own to one of the hired girls who foolishly left her own out in the downpour and never returned them. Lominzel probably never would now. Morwen decided to leave the splinter in as a reminder to talk to the miller's wife about her younger daughters. While the prince's men were able workers, she doubted he would part with them for good. Come harvest, the orchard would miss the loss of one family.

Finished with her pile, Morwen rose from her stoop to take the ladder to the next tree, only to discover Prince Thengel's hand on one of the rungs. He held a book in the other.

"Oh! Prince Thengel…good morning," she stammered. "I didn't see you."

"Good afternoon," he replied.

Morwen squinted at the sun through the branches. Oh. It was hard to tell time in a tree.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "You were engrossed in your work."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she admitted. "How is Guthere?"

The prince smiled. It looked almost self-deprecating. "Nanneth arrived an hour ago to check on him and chased Cenhelm and I away. But he is improving well. His color has come back and we do not see any sign of infection."

Morwen smiled back, pleased with the news. "We pride ourselves in Nanneth's skill, as well as the healing properties of our herbs," she observed.

"But you yourself are not a healer?" he asked.

Morwen's lips curled in a small sign of distaste. "No. I prefer growing fruit to healing limbs. Or in this case, cutting back branches." Then she asked, "What have you and Cenhelm done to amuse yourselves?"

"Cenhelm wanted to exercise the horses, while I have elected to read from your fine library. Now I've come to make sure my men are working well."

"More then well," she said happily as she hefted the ladder to the next tree. He followed with her tools, though she had not asked him to.

"I think Beldir may bribe them to stay," she mused. "In fact, I might suggest it to him."

Prince Thengel shrugged, not very afraid. "They are too honest for that."

She climbed up, found a troublesome branch, and gestured for Prince Thengel to hand her the saw.

"Perhaps we can make them a better offer," she replied as she worked.

Lord Thengel looked around the hill, taking in the neat columns and the workers, then back at her. "You might, especially if you make for an easier task master."

"I doubt it," she said. "I expect them to work as hard as I do. Why, are you a difficult master?"

When he did not immediately reply, she glanced down at him from through the blossoms. A few had gotten in his hair. His head lolled to the side as he looked up at her, thinking.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I am merely surprised to find the kinswoman of the Prince of Dol Amroth climbing ladders and tending the fields alongside the farmhands." His tone was friendly, but wondering.

Morwen climbed down a few rungs till they were eye to eye. "You know my cousins?" she asked.

Lord Thengel nodded. "We have met. As the Steward's…" he fished around for a word, "guest, I spend the majority of my time with him when I am not in Ithilien. Your cousins serve him in council."

Morwen almost snorted. "Ah, I see."

That explained his expectations of what a woman descended from Belfalas nobility ought to look like. Morwen could almost hug herself. She compared to Prince Angelemir's family as a bluebell compared to an orchid. It didn't trouble her, but everyone had their preferences.

"You will soon discover that Lossarnach is not Dol Amroth - or even Minas Tirith. The women of those cities have the luxury of idleness while others take care of their households," she said proudly. "Not so in the backwoods of Imloth Melui. Ladies in this part of the country can't be compared to the princesses of others."

Thengel bowed his head in acquiescence or perhaps to hide a smirk. "I see that now," he replied.

Morwen decided to change the subject. "So, Nanneth has banished you from the house, you were reading, and have made sure your men are hard at work. What else will you do with your day?"

"I thought I might lend a hand here," he told her genially, holding up the clippers. "I am in want of employment."

Morwen blinked at him, feeling a mixture of anxiety and regret. The former for having to deny his request and the latter…also for having to deny his request.

Necessity had led her to cross the line into inhospitality when she commandeered the Prince's men. Allowing Prince Thengel to carry branches to the burn pile like the lowliest of menials would be unforgivable. She felt certain if her father ever haunted her, it would be for allowing something like this to happen in his household. Yet, looking at the outline of the prince's muscled arms and chest beneath the tunic he wore, she knew he could make short work of a branch that would give her more trouble. Morwen wondered if he had been sent to her as a test of character in the battle between practicality and good manners. Valar help her.

"My Lord Thengel, you know I could not possibly allow that."

His light eyebrows rose as his expression changed from genial good humor to something like stubbornness. "Even if it happens to be work you do yourself?" he challenged.

"It is my orchard and I am nobody of consequence," Morwen reminded him. Then she added, "It would be unpardonable—"

She was interrupted by a loud squeak and a shout of surprise, followed by the sound of something heavy landing on the ground. Beldir and Gundor both lay on the grass, limbs splayed out, with a ladder sandwiched between them.

"Oh, stars," she breathed, completely descending the ladder. "Gundor's gotten under foot again."

Gladhon and Thurstan appeared from the trees to help untangle the men from one another and help them to their feet.

Beldir was no poet, but he had a certain freedom of creative expression, particularly in epithets, which he applied liberally to his apprentice. A severe chop of his free hand sliced the air between them and punctuated each word.

The prince's men hovered nearby in case an intervention should be needed, but Morwen already had an idea about that.

Pointing at the volume in the prince's hand, she asked, "Which book did you chose?"

Though puzzled by her interest in the book when something more interesting was developing farther up the hill, he answered, "One I was surprised to find in a Gondorian scholar's library." He held up the spine for her to read. "It is a translation of tales out of the north. From my people, I believe. At least, we tell them in our songs, as we do not write them down. Have you read it?"

Morwen peered at the title and found it was a single, complex jumble of consonants and vowels, some unfamiliar, written in another tongue. "No, I don't believe so. What is it about?"

He turned the book around in his hands. "Adventures, mostly."

"Prince Thengel, I've already asked one very large favor of you - and I cannot possibly allow you to do the work of a servant, but I would be deeply gratified if you could read those tales to us. Could you?" she asked.

He silently appraised her. "Why?"

She glanced over at poor, shrinking Gundor. His head drooped down to his chest as he took the abuse.

"Gundor needs to be rescued," she replied. "I think he would appreciate the distraction just now."

When she looked back at Prince Thengel, he smiled at her. The difference it made on his face surprised her. For one, he hardly resembled the detached man she had encountered that morning as they discussed the exchange of men for hospitality. She wondered if he were naturally distant or if he had merely fed off of her own coolness.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm learning more about my hostess," he answered. "Beneath the imperiousness, you have a champion's way."

Morwen felt the telltale heat on her throat and cheeks. Imperious! She?

"I might have been afraid of you, if not for your kindness to Guthere," he told her.

Morwen stared at him, at a loss. Then a memory arose. Adrahil twitting her about cherry trees growing out of her ears or something similarly outrageous. A joke. Nobody had joked at her expense in a long time. She'd forgotten the sensation.

"You're teasing me," she said dryly.

"Maybe. Maybe not." He flipped through the pages of the book in his hand. "Now, which tale should I read?"

Morwen didn't particularly care so long as it deflected Beldir's attention away from his apprentice and gave them a moment of peace.

Prince Thengel leafed through the pages. "Perhaps a short one. Ah. This is a fragment of a longer tale." He closed his thumb in the book to mark the beginning of the story he had chosen.

"That is well," she said. "Now, you might want to stand back a moment while I put out the fire." She nodded in Beldir's direction.

That smile again. "I'll wait till it's safe."

Morwen took a bucket of water from the barrel to give them all a drink or to throw it on Beldir, depending on what the situation warranted.

"Peace, Beldir. I think we all need some lunch," she told them. "And look, Prince Thengel has arrived. He has agreed to help pass the time with a story."

Gladhon and Thurstan looked away from the spectacle and spotted Prince Thengel. Beldir looked annoyed at himself for not noticing that someone had entered the grounds and gave red-cheeked Gundor a black look for distracting him with his foolishness.

Beldir briskly removed his gloves and tucked them into his belt while he composed himself. "We may as well stop for the noon meal. Gundor, bring the baskets over and see you don't drop anything."

Gundor promptly departed to find the baskets Hareth had prepared earlier that morning. The others formed a circle on the grass beneath the trees' shade. They were joined by Nanneth's older grandsons and some of the wives and daughters of woodsmen who had joined Hardang in Ithilien but had not come back. Morwen sat down in the space between Gladhon and Nanneth's oldest grandson, but Gladhon made room for Prince Thengel to sit between them.

"What tale is it?" Gladhon asked.

"It is the story of Thunor and the suitors."

Gladhon shrugged. "Never heard of him."

"He is an old hero of the Northmen," said Thurstan.

"This book contains only the fragment of Thunor's adventure after he won a great battle," Prince Thengel explained. "This story contains his quest to reclaim his hall."

"What battle?" Nanneth's grandson asked. "With the dark lord S—?"

Everyone shushed the boy.

"Older even than that battle," the prince answered. "Thunor's enemies were the Easterlings before the tall warriors from over the sea arrived."

Gundor arrived laden with the baskets. While the food passed from person to person, Prince Thengel told of the Northmen's plight against the Wainriders. Thunor, she was able to piece together, was an ancient thane of the Northmen long before the many princes of Rhovanion were unified or Eorl the Young rode into Calenardhon.

Prince Thengel began to read Thunor's tale as the hero had awakened from a dream, discovering that he slept in an unknown wood of trees that seemed to brush the heavens with their crowns. The hollow spaces beneath the trees were as cavernous as any mead hall. It smote his heart with the memory of his own great hall in wilderland. How long had he slept and how long had the hall been bereft of its lord?

Morwen's interest wavered during a long lamentation that might have been for the hall or it might have been a lamentation for Thunor's wife. She couldn't tell. The two seemed to be one and the same in the poem. It picked up again when Thunor recalled the battle Wainriders and recounted the supernatural blizzard that had driven him apart from his companions, lost in wilderland and unable to find his way home.

After the blizzard, Thunor wandered out of reckoning. He was lost among a strange folk, ensnared by an elven enchantress who held him for years in her woodland realm where he had fallen asleep - the instance when the story began. Only when Béma appeared to him in his dreams, revealing that his hall was in danger from traitors and outsiders did the enchantment break and the way home had become clear to Thunor.

Morwen stopped the Prince. "Béma? Who is he?"

"The one called Oromë in your reckoning," Thengel translated. "The great rider and huntsman of the Valar."

"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Morwen that the Valar would have other names.

By the time Béma…or Oromë…intervened, however, twenty years had passed. When Thunor arrived at his hall, he found it filled with lords from the East, along with their households. His loyal riders were lost in the blizzard that had separated them long ago, leaving the hall barely defensible. And those men who had been left to protect the hall had traded their gold torques for the gold rings and new shields provided by these foreign lords. Rich gifts. They took to serving themselves at the expense of the Thunor's lady, feasting themselves and the lords who came as suitors to the widow - so they supposed her after twenty years with no lord. Only Thunor's wife remained loyal, for she too wore the torque, a solid ring of gold with no visible opening, he had given her on their handfasting day. But the lord had returned like a thief, not a king, to a hall that had diminished under the gluttony of so many suitors. The queen's faithfulness would matter little if he had no means to reclaim his hall and rid the place of the Eastern leeches.

Here, the prince's voice began to crack out of dryness. He coughed and Morwen brought him some water. The sun had risen high over the valley and most of the food had disappeared into contented bellies. Even Beldir had a grudgingly absorbed expression on his face. She felt vaguely torn between continuing the day's work and hearing the rest of the story.

Prince Thengel glanced up at her from the pages of the book. Closing it, he gratefully accepted the dipper of water. She sat down again beside him, ready to hear more now that things were actually happening.

"It is a long tale. You will have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happens," he said apologetically. "Else, I won't have a scrap of voice left."

Morwen pursed her lips, not liking to wait. She didn't like the idea of all those suitors badgering the queen and make nuisances of themselves, either. But she couldn't press the prince to overextend his voice. She nodded to the others who got up on legs shaky from sitting for so long in one attitude. Beldir directed them around the slope to trees that had been marked the day before.

While the others dispersed, Morwen took advantage of her position as hostess to wheedle more of the story from them.

"Couldn't Thunor just make the suitors go away?" she asked as he took another drink from the dipper. "Once they knew it was their lord?"

He lowered the dipper. "How when he had no éored to back his authority anymore? They had lusted too long after his riches and his wife and had ceased to be loyal. Revealing himself would have been suicide. "

Ah, she hadn't thought about that. It is easy to say, I'm in charge, but less easy to prove it. "So what did he do?" she asked, eyes bright.

Prince Thengel considered for a moment, perhaps weighing whether or not he should keep revealing the story to her.

"I suppose he could cut their throats in their sleep," she mused.

He grimaced. "Hardly sportsmanlike."

"It would get the job done," she countered. "And quickly."

"The Northmen would hardly consider it honorable for a hero to defeat his enemies while they were asleep," he told her with vague disapproval. "He had to win outright, but without revealing his position. So he put on a disguise and challenged the suitors to a contest for the queen's hand."

Morwen plucked at the blossoms that had fallen near her feet. "And did he beat them?"

Thengel grinned at her eagerness. "Of course, but the question is how."

"The question is," she replied after a moment's consideration, "how long did his wife have to put up with this foolishness?"

Thengel handed back the dipper and gave her an inscrutable smile. "Long enough to make it a good story. But perhaps not from the wife's perspective."

"No, not with everyone making decision for her and bidding on her."

The prince looked down at the book cover resting on his leg, thinking. "But without the suitors, there isn't much of a tale. The whole point of the story is Thunor's homecoming and the joyful reunion between the husband and wife after long travail," he told her as he tapped on the book.

Morwen shrugged. This is why she didn't much care for stories. They were rarely practical. "After twenty years, she might have done just as well without Thunor and his travail."

The Prince's stared at her for a second, then he threw his head back and laughed - deep, rolling laughs that carried over the orchard. Morwen colored, wondering what she had said that could earn so much noise. Everyone nearby looked over. She resisted the urge to cover her cheeks to hide the blush.

When the laughter subsided, Prince Thengel sighed happily. "You don't mince words. Perhaps she might have been better off running the household with a free hand…provided the suitors gave up and stopped eating such enormous dinners," Prince Thengel pointed out with a knowing expression. "But you don't seem to make much allowance for love and affection."

Oh.

Morwen supposed she sounded hard-hearted, but she hadn't meant to. And another idea occurred to her. "He can't have loved her very much if a god had to intervene to remind him of home! Thunor's wife grieved for him for twenty years, and he rendered senseless by an enchantress," she replied. "And worse, then she had to mourn all over again when he did truly die."

"Then let us hope that he outlived her," the prince answered with a shrug. "The story doesn't say."

Morwen looked for a sign that he was teasing her again. Perhaps the fresh air made him giddy after being shut up inside for two days, for he certainly seemed different. But at that moment he decided to focus on a bee hovering near his knee and she couldn't tell. Averted eyes were difficult to read.

That raised another question. She asked, "How did she know it was her husband?"

The prince's brows dipped together as he looked up at her again. "What do you mean?"

Morwen pointed to the book. "She hadn't seen him in twenty years. He must have aged and all that magic and adventure must have changed him. How did she recognize him?"

"Oh, that was simple enough," he said with a shrug. "He told her a secret only he would know."

Morwen thought there might be any number of things a man might know about his wife that no one else would. It might be imprudent to ask, but then, she didn't want to wait to find out. "What was that?"

"How to remove the torque around her neck." He held up his hand before she could ask any more questions. "You really ought to read it."

Before Morwen could reply, Beldir appeared at her elbow. "Is that Gildis coming through the trees?"

It was. Morwen stepped back in surprise. Gildis so seldom appeared in the orchard.

"Message came for you," the housekeeper said dourly once she reached them. "It arrived with the carrier who came to take the, er," she gave Morwen a cautious glance, "the item back to Arnach. Well, he gives me this letter along with the wine from Prince Adrahil."

"Adrahil sent it ahead?" Morwen asked, puzzled. Adrahil always supplied wine when he attended Lossemeren, but he never sent it ahead. She felt a premonition tickling her spine, a feeling rather too familiar for her liking.

Morwen took the letter from Gildis. It was rare that she received anything and she recognized the swan seal of Dol Amroth immediately, causing her breath to hitch in her throat as a bad memory choked her. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that if Adrahil had truly awful news, he would come in person. Like he had done last spring.

"Are you well?" Prince Thengel asked. His eyes were narrow as they scrutinized her face.

"That depends on the contents of the letter," she replied quietly.

She broke the blue wax, read the contents, and then stared at the paper in her hand. It announced that Adrahil's plans had changed suddenly on account of his wife's health - nothing to worry about. It simply ended with their apologies, they hoped to see her in Minas Tirith soon, etc., etc.

Would nothing go right this spring? Morwen quickly retracted the question in case the universe decided to answer. She had looked forward to Adrahil coming, she hadn't known how much. After all, the last time she saw Adrahil had been a year ago - when he brought her home after her father's funeral.

"Bad news?" Prince Thengel asked when she folded the letter.

Morwen schooled her expression into something more placid. "Cousin Adrahil and his wife won't be coming," she told them. "Princess Aranel isn't well."

"I knew it as soon as I saw the wine," Gildis muttered.

"A disappointment, to be sure," the Prince said.

"It is," she answered stiffly.

"And you were looking forward to showing him all the improvements you made this year," Gildis said, grousing over the news. "I can't imagine what this Princess Aranel might be suffering that a few weeks in Lossarnach's air couldn't heal."

Morwen agreed, feeling the bitter spike of disappointment. Adrahil would appreciate that she not only kept the roof from falling down around her ears, but that the plantation had flourished - a few trees aside. He knew Bar-en-Ferin almost as well as anyone outside of the valley. She felt rather proud of herself and — well, a little recognition went a long way. But what could she do? Perhaps Aranel hadn't wanted to come in the first place? But that was conjecture and Morwen knew it was unfair to her new cousin.

"Perhaps you could substitute one prince for another?" Prince Thengel suggested. "I would like to see more of your land. That is, if it won't get in the way of your preparations."

How could it when she had a rotation of his own men filling in? Without Adrahil, it simply didn't seem to matter as much what the orchard looked like.

"It is worth seeing," she answered slowly as she tucked the letter away. "I'll take you around myself. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

Morwen felt mollified, though it didn't supplant the disappointment of missing the one cousin she did like.

"Oh, and I'm to tell you, my lord Prince, that Nanneth says you may tend to your wounded man again," said Gildis, bobbing respectfully like a duck.

"I've been summoned," he said to Morwen, getting up from the grass before helping her up as well.

While Prince Thengel returned to the house with Gildis to see to Guthere, Morwen distracted herself by clipping branches and planning the tour she would give. She wondered what sort of substitute Prince Thengel would make on the day of the feast.

Stars! That reminded her that she would have to deal with Halmir and Hundor without the diluting effect of Adrahil. She hadn't realized until that instant that not only had she hoped to show off her estate, she had hoped to use Adrahil and Aranel as a shield!

TBC. Thank you for reading! Thanks again to Lia and Thanwen for critters.