“I did not mean for my letter to take you once more from your flowering homelands, dear mother.” Théoden looked down into the cradle that was being gently rocked. “Though, I am gladdened that you have come. It is a.. bright beckon amid the shadows of my life.” He swallowed his sadness as he reached down to tuck the blanket around his infant son. “If not for you, and for him.. and Théodwyn,” he added hastily in reference to his teenage sister who was fussing about the nursery unpacking their mother’s things, “I would certainly have succumb to grief.”

Morwen lifted a hand to fuss with her son’s collar as he doted upon his. “I had planned to make arrangements for travel soon enough. What woman would not wish to see her first grandson?” Morwen slid her hand away from Théoden and reached down to stroke the babe’s head. “He is a strong child, to have survived without his mother.”

“She had such a difficult pregnancy,” recalled Théoden, yet unable to speak the name of his recently departed wife. “I should have suspected something.”

“At least you had the means to take care of his needs right away,” said Morwen. “Think of how many blacksmiths and millers lack the resources you have.”

“It was easy enough to find a wet-nurse,” Théoden assured her. “In fact, it was not an hour before there was a line in the courtyard.” In the back of his mind, Théoden made a note to speak with the Minister of Healing, to be sure there was something set up for the most unfortunate babes left unexpectedly motherless.

“Your subjects love you. That is good. You inherited your father’s firm kindness.” Morwen paused the rocking of the cradle with her other hand, and almost immediately the child opened his eyes with a whimper and a wail. “Has he eaten yet?”

“Just before you came,” Théoden assured her worriedly. “As of late, I have had to put a watch upon the rocking of that cradle. Something disturbs him.”

Morwen laughed lightly at her son. “But of course it does,” she agreed as she lifted the babe into her arms. “Likely not just the fact that he cannot yet walk, talk, or have roast mutton and a strong mug of ale.” She nodded knowingly once she had him out of the cradle. “At the very least a changing, but there is something more afoot.” She walked across the room, carrying Théodred and rocking him in her arms at the same time, a feat that Théoden was admittedly jealous of, but that his mother later assured him came with having five children. “Do we have a tummy-ache, or do we have a toothie-ache?” she cooed at Théodred. He quieted a little at her soothing voice, but made little gasping sobs that warned he could start up again at any moment. “Théodwyn, bring me the chamomile oil,” instructed Morwen as she set to changing Théodred’s wet diaper. She sang to him softly as she worked, bringing calm both to the child and his father.

“There, now, let me see.” She washed her hands with water from a pitcher and dried them again before gently pressing one finger against the babe’s gums. When she reached his upper gums, he wailed again and she nodded to herself. “Certainly a toothache, and my, what lungs he has! Reminds me of your older sister,” she told Théoden.

Théodwyn helped her mother apply a few tiny droplets of the oily concoction to the babe’s sore gums while Théoden quietly observed. “You can go on back to your kingdom now if you like.” Morwen assured her son with a smile. “He is in good hands.”

“I am loathe to leave you too quickly now that you have returned, mother.” Théoden sat down in a chair opposite the one where his mother was now rocking his son.

Morwen smiled. “My place is here, for now,” she said. “Ah, it is nice to hold a little one again!” She bent her head to kiss Théodred’s forehead. “They always smell so sweetly, like squirming little angels.”

Théoden laughed as his sister carefully cleaned up the soiled diaper cloth and the linens from the cradle, bundling them tightly. Théodwyn silently tidied up, then went to the door and peeked into the hallway, seeing a young man slightly younger than she at the end of the corridor. “Boy,” she called out to him, “take these soiled things to the scullery maid, if it please you.”

“It pleases me not,” argued the lad as he sauntered over, looking down his nose at her. “Why should I take orders from you when you’ve two good legs of your own?”

“Gríma,” said Théoden warningly from where he still sat, “I will thank you to do whatever pleases her, for she is my sister, and a lady of this land.”

Pursing his lips together, Gríma took hold of the bundle disdainfully. He stepped just within the room, bowing low to the King. “Forgive me, your highness. I did not realize she was other than a servant, but clearly I should have from her fine voice and charm.” He bowed again, even lower, careful not to glare at the girl from whom he would now be obliged to take orders.

“You are dismissed, Gríma.” Théoden sighed as Gríma left. “He is generally a good lad,” he assured his mother. “Tough times these past months have scarred the morale of us all.”

Morwen nodded. “Until such time as you remarry--”

“Never shall I marry again,” vowed Théoden in that moment.

Morwen held her tongue. She rocked Théodred until he fell asleep, then tucked him away in his cradle and motioned for her daughter to leave the room with her. “I think I shall take a walk to reacquaint myself with the grounds. The fact remains that you need a queen; someone to give advice when all others would forsake you. I may not be queen in name, but I have some experience, and would gladly do what good I can for you while I still breathe.”

“A queen in my heart, and mind, then, until such time as Théodred marries.” He walked to the cradle, and looked down upon his son dotingly.

Morwen gave her son a nod, and ushered Théodwyn out the rest of the way. Neither caught the sour glare from the lanky lad standing at the end of the hall.