Chapter Text
Lady Telperian was surprised and concerned when the Steward arrived at her office.
She gestured at the velvet upholstered chairs she had for clients. “Greetings, Lord Steward, what brings you here? Please take a seat. There is no trouble with your daughter Morwen’s forthcoming wedding to Lieutenant Beregar, is there?”
The Steward sat. “No, no, not at all. It is simply that I need you to draw up another nuptial contract.”
“For whom, may I ask?” Telperian was now perplexed.
“My daughter Idis.”
Telperian stared at the Steward. “Idis is … to be wed?”
Idis had, for a short time, acted as a clerk to Telperian, in the Steward’s never-ending quest to find something useful for his second daughter to do. It had, frankly, been disastrous. While the woman was exceptionally intelligent, and had a beautiful hand, she had also been vague, moody and prone to creeping up on people. The final straw had been when Idis drew daggers on an unpleasant litigant in court. Telperian had demanded that she leave, after that.
The Steward twitched a little; Telperian wondered if he knew she was thinking of that incident. “Yes. She, er, was engaged to be married two days ago.”
After putting the name ‘Idis of Emyn Arnen’ at the top of a piece of paper, Telperian scratched her head. “To whom? Surely this is all rather sudden?”
The Steward waved his hand. “It’s very Idis. She hid this fellow from us for months, but he recently accompanied her to the Autumn Festival.”
“That is right, I did hear something about, um, your son and your daughter bringing … friends … to the Festival? I don’t recall the name of your daughter’s friend?”
The main point of interest for all had been that Lord Ecthelion had brought his long-time friend and housemate Lord Beren to the Festival, surely a tacit acknowledgment of their relationship. Telperian had idly drafted a nuptial contract for them, for her own secret entertainment, some years ago.
“Yes. Idis’s friend is named Lord Thorongil of Galaridh.” The Steward placed a slim brown calf-leather folder on her desk. “Here is all the information you will need to know about him, including the address of his parents, his income and so forth.”
Telperian looked quickly through the folder, copied down the man’s details, and her bemusement grew. Lord Thorongil was the fourth son of a minor country noble from Lossarnach, did not own any land, nor was he in line to inherit any. He was a junior public servant. Her arms prickled. “This man—he is not predatory, is he? I note his estate is vastly less than your daughter’s, and he is a rather minor noble?”
The Steward cleared his throat. “No, he’s not predatory. I would not have allowed Idis to go anywhere near him, if he was.” Then he looked up at the roof. “My daughter, is, however, somewhat predatory, in a different way.”
The plot thickened. “What do you mean?”
The Steward shrugged. “She pursued this man, and, ah, then, when she discovered he liked her too—” He broke off.
“What did she do to him?” Telperian hoped that it did not involve knives, violence or castration.
“In confidence, she crept into his room in the middle of the night, purportedly for a “goodnight kiss”. However, they got rather carried away, so we gather—”
Telperian blinked with astonishment. “I thought she liked neither physical contact nor men?” Telperian had, to be honest, thought this was sensible of Idis. Cats were better company than humans, as they had often discussed. Telperian had not thought Idis was in the least flighty, unlike her older sister Finduilas, who had fallen in love with a man from Arnor and then moved there to marry him.
“It transpires that she makes an exception for this man,” the Steward noted. “Anyway, he’s a good lad; she told Éowyn that he immediately proposed marriage … afterwards. Éowyn has told her off soundly for putting him in such a position. I confess I chided him too, although I did not have the heart to be too ferocious. He thought I was going to hang him—”
“Well, well,” said Telperian, jotting this down. “Is she—?”
“We don’t know. We shall find out by the end of this week.” The Steward sighed. “As far as I can work out, she is rather hoping that she might be—whereas he is panicking, poor lad.”
“O dear!” Telperian tutted. “She entrapped him?”
“O, no, not quite,” the Steward said. “He was going to propose to her anyway in the next few weeks, as he made quite clear to me in our conversation. Éowyn did say that in her estimation, they were … rather desperate? … to be wed once they had worked out their affection was mutual?”
Telperian snorted. “How extraordinary! How very extraordinary?”
“It will turn out well,” the Steward said, confidently. “He’s a diplomat in Harad. Now she can travel with him. And they are extremely fond of each other indeed, thank the Valar.”
Telperian sighed, and wrote ‘Diplomat’ on the paper. “So—special terms? I presume you don’t want him to be able to get out of it?”
“Well, no,” said the Steward. “I don’t think Thorongil wants to get out of it, to be fair. You can leave the option for Idis if you wish; however, there’s no way in which she’ll take it. But … I like to be cautious, and there is my daughter’s reputation to look to. Because—well, I am afraid Ecthelion might have … ”
Telperian choked. “What did Lord Ecthelion do?”
“He discovered them in bed together and told various people loudly,” sighed the Steward. “It was extremely silly of him, and Idis threw boots at him. I must say I felt like throwing boots at him too.”
“Very well.” Telperian shook her head: she had always thought Ecthelion was the most foolish of the Steward’s large brood. “I suppose I shall adapt the contract I did for Beregar and Morwen?”
“You may do what you see fit,” said the Steward. “Your assistance in this is very much appreciated, as always.”
He rose, and then spotted Rian lying on the windowsill in a spot of sun. He strode over and affectionately tickled the cat behind the ears. “Hullo, girl. How are you?” He turned to Telperian. “Did you keep Idis’s name for her?”
Telperian sighed. “Yes. Rian.” She blinked. “It strikes me that Idis’s naming conventions are rather romantic?”
“She is, as recent events have confirmed, a secret romantic,” said the Steward fondly. “Farewell.”
Telperian strode out to her clerk, Silvien. “Silvien, we will need to do some more nuptial contracts for the Steward.”
Silvien stared. “For which child is this? Surely not Húrin?”
“Nay, ‘tis Idis—” Telperian began, and was startled when Silvien burst out laughing.
“So she caught that pretty young fellow, then?” Silvien said.
“You knew she had a beau?” Telperian said with surprise. “And he’s pretty, is he?”
“So they say. Quite besotted with her. They have been visiting café Salons together.”
Telperian had to know something. She had forgotten to ask the Steward. “Does this beau … fiancé … know about the knives?”
Silvien shrugged. “Who knows? He must, surely?”
Telperian went up to the shelf, and took down Morwen’s contract. “So, I think we will adapt this one, but with special terms—”
Silvien looked interested. “What special terms?”
“He can’t get out of it,” said Telperian. “I’ve been assured that he doesn’t want to—but there may be a need for a hasty wedding—?”
Silvien burst out laughing. “No! No? Really?”
“Any information you learn here is strictly confidential,” Telperian said sternly.
“I know, my Lady.” Silvien contained her levity.
“I shall draft something and then I want you to write good copy,” Telperian said.
“Very well, my Lady,” said Silvien.