Recommended listening: Strauss, Eine Alpensinfonie

CHAPTER XXVIII: ENVINYATAR

Bells broke the news of dawn the next morning; a great din arose from the city of Osgiliath as all manner of trumpeters and musicians expressed with full enthusiasm their relief that the wicked clouds had dispersed from the easterly mountains, carrying with them the fell mood that had disheartened the people of Gondor for far too long.

The prodigious oliphaunts roamed yet along the banks of the Anduin as the Host of the West, with armor freshly polished and dressed in their finest garb – which, having been to war, was not terribly remarkable – assembled upon the outskirts of the city. Hidlanders and Eorlingas, Dúnedain and Gondorians, Swan Knights and fighters from the southern fiefs; all marched forward as one, advancing upon the city for which they had risked breath and body.

Despite the early hour of the morning, sunlight beamed down with an unfamiliar intensity as the black and white walls of Minas Tirith rose up before them. The Armies' pace slowed, for there was no urgency in their course and the heat was overwhelming, causing the soldiers to suffer greatly in their armor. Truva was blinded and boiling, sweat rolling down her back as they arrived upon the fields of the Pelennor, column upon column aligned in a grand display before the White City.

Truva stood just behind Éomer King, side by side with Elfhelm Marshal, and though their forces stood proudly in conjunction with each other, Truva ensured the muster of Hidland fighters were not outshone by any other force, small in number though they were. When her glance caught Chaya's, the two exchanged a sly smile, for it was with a distinguished sense of accomplishment that the Hidlanders stood boldly amongst those ranks, having at every turn defeated odds unrelentingly stacked against them.

A barrier had been constructed in place of the demolished main gates of the city, and it was some distance beyond this structure that the Armies halted, stern and austere. An envoy came forth to greet them, and though Truva had no knowledge of the lead figures who approached, her spirit soared to spy Éowyn amidst their number. It was joyous news to see the shieldmaiden so entirely recovered – and how resplendent did she look, her golden hair streaming in the mid-morning sun, as if sunlight itself!

Aragorn stepped apart from the Armies, accompanied by all his noteworthy companions; Gandlaf was foremost among them, but there was also Éomer King, Prince Imrahil, and the four Halflings. A single trumpet rang out as they drew near to the awaiting party, and the stillness that followed was palpable. From those emissaries come to meet them emerged a man most fair of countenance, yet whose bearing suggested he was no stranger to battle.

"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office," the Man declared, his voice clear and bold, though those further back struggled to distinguish his words.

"What did he say?" hissed Halbarad, several columns behind Truva.

"He said the last Steward of Gondor is relinquishing his position," Truva whispered in return.

"Which one is the Steward of Gondor?" asked Blackbramble.

"I think the Man who is speaking is the Steward," said Chaya.

"I cannot see a single thing!" complained Éomód, for he was aligned directly behind Blackbramble. Halbarad shushed them all with a finger to his lips then, though it was he who had instigated their conversation at the start. Disregarding the Ranger's hand-waving, several Eorlingas turned to relay events to those in the rear as the Steward continued:

"Behold! One has come to claim the kingship at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, Bearer of the Star of the North, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be King and enter into the City?"

The clamour that had woken Truva that morning was incomparable to the wave of approval that roared from the city upon the Steward's query. She did not fault these citizens of Gondor; for she knew the significance of a wise and kind king, as her own had been the foundation of her time beyond the Hidlands. To imagine her life without Théoden King or Éomer sent a tingle of dread to her extremities.

She did, however, feel a certain pedantic satisfaction in the knowledge that she herself, and not Aragorn, bore the Star of the Dúnedain; for it sat pinned in her pocket even then.

She was lost in such thoughts when four guards of the Citadel advanced, bearing a black wooden box. Truva could not discern much, for her distance was too great and she did not have the advantage of Bron's height, yet there was a flash of white: a silver helm, perhaps. She caught a glimpse of Aragorn rising from his knees, yet he rose not as Ranger but as King, stately and regal.

"Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" he cried, and a momentary silence hung upon the air. Despite the stifling temperature and her ignorance as to the words' meaning, chills trembled across Truva's skin. The ceremony that now unfolded before her was the actualization of that which she had long known would come to pass: Aragorn had passed into another realm entirely, unreachable and inaccessible; he was King.

"Behold the King!" declared the Steward, and the soldiers of all the Western Host unsheathed their swords and lifted them in salute. Raising her own blade high into the midday sun and watching it reflect fractured light into the sky, Truva felt her dispirited mood dissipate, only to be replaced by supreme elation. She had passed through valleys of darkness – both of the body and of the mind – and emerged unscathed, dedicated ever to her supreme purpose: the protection of her self and people.

Newly anointed, King Aragorn followed the Steward through the gate and up into the City, and the Armies of the West immediately leapt to follow, desperate to be free of their ceremonial regalia. A great concourse of subjects crowded the streets to greet their sovereign and the forces he had led. They threw flowers at the soldiers' feet and clapped and whooped raucously. Minstrels and trumpeters raised their music in elation, which only served to add to the chaos.

Truva was taken aback when she was repeatedly offered flowers; men who wished for her favor thrust ornate bouquets of flowers into her hands, and many women extended blossoms of admiration and idolization. Truva could not comprehend how they were so quick to recognize her in full uniform with helm upon head, yet she gratefully accepted their offerings nevertheless. She wondered how splendid Bron would have appeared adorned by such garlands; and as her heart was still raw from her loss, Truva was unable to banish such thoughts from her mind. She dwelt gloomily upon them instead until she was roused by the sound of a familiar voice.

"Truva!" came the cry, and Truva's head lifted to see a cluster of three women: Aerin the seamstress and her friends. They stood a short ways ahead, some distance from the roadway with many people pressed between. Truva smiled and waved in response, and Aerin held aloft a nosegay, yet she was too far to pass it into Truva's hand. She tossed it, and when it went wide Truva was comically forced to fight off Galador of Dol Amroth for the token – much to Aerin's delight.

The procession arrived before the Citadel at great last, and as the King entered the Tower of Ecthelion accompanied by many of his great Captains, Truva caught the eye of Éomer King. He nodded once, and Truva turned without hesitation to the Hidlanders. The Tower Hall would be suffocating; if not for its cramped confines and numerous adulators, then for Aragorn's perceptive gaze, which she wished most vehemently to evade.

Instead, she led her company once more to the soldiers' quarters, the very same accommodations where they had slept before the Armies' departure for Morannon. The Hidlanders and Eorlingas divided into their separate halls, only to dash about and between the two chambers, for they would not so easily be sundered from one another. Many quickly unloaded their gear and washed up, for they felt exhilarated by the atmosphere that reigned in the city.

Oblivious to the others' antics, Truva first arranged the flowers she had received beside her bedroll, then pulled Bron's saddle blanket from her rucksack and folded it neatly upon her pillow. Unlike the fighters who cavorted rambunctiously around her, she did not feel in high spirits; so as they went out in search of refreshment, Truva made her way to the bathhouse.

The tubs were deserted, for none wished to be absent in the citywide frivolity. As cheerful voices filtered up from the streets below, Truva found herself submerged in endless musing; she had left Bron behind, only to return to the final resting place of Théoden King and Éofa, and soon she was sure to follow Éomer King once more to Edoras, as though everything and nothing had changed. Truva sank into the water until only her nose remained above the surface, and allowed her perturbation to mingle with the scalding water.

When she at last abandoned her cyclical thoughts, Truva rushed to clean herself, paying especial attention to her as yet unhealed shoulder wound and newly acquired knee injury. Emerging from the baths, she donned her clothes and slipped out into the crowded street. The golden hair of a passing maiden recalled the image of Éowyn to her mind, and so Truva concluded she ought to seek out the shieldmaiden at the Houses of Healing.

At the entrance of the Houses, the Warden directed Truva toward the gardens, where she found the Eorlingas maiden standing upon the battlements of the city, her back to the garden entrance as she looked out over the fields of the Pelennor. The midafternoon sun was beginning to pull toward the west, its rays beating heavily over the ridges of Mindolluin to glitter enticingly upon the Anduin.

Truva approached cautiously, for when she had last seen Éowyn – aside from a brief glimpse at the crowning ceremony that morning – the warrior had lain quite still and deathlike upon a bed in the Houses. Truva need not have worried, however, for when Éowyn turned it was as though Truva gazed upon the fresh, full moon in a cloudless spring night sky. A faint smile formed upon Éowyn's lips, her first true indication of genuine happiness since Gríma's fateful trip so many years ago.

"Truva!" said Éowyn, her voice gentle and airy, lilting across the flowerbeds. "I see even the entirety of Mordor's forces were incapable of killing you!"

"Not for lack of trying!" laughed Truva. "Ah, how good is it to see your smiling face again, my friend. I thought if it were not my death that parted us, it would surely have been yours. To stand before the Lord of the Nazgûl and deny him! The darkness seemed stricken to your core."

"Yet it was not physical malady that plagued me, as I think you know," said Éowyn, and Truva's weight shifted, for she did.

"I must apologize for the wrong I have done unto you," said Truva, repentant. "To have misled you – twice! – in the pursuit of love; for such great misdeeds I cannot forgive myself."

"Come now, rather it was foolish of me to place such a burden upon one so inexperienced in matters of the heart," said Éowyn. "You spoke true to what you knew of Gríma, and none could have foreseen what would befall him. As for Lord Aragorn, our newly crowned King, I desired from him that which was not his to give, which I alone could obtain for myself. I willfully blinded myself against the truth in his heart, out of the greed that existed in my own."

"Even so, I cannot help but feel some responsibility for your sorrow," said Truva. "And yet, as I look upon you now, how well you seem! What is it that has allowed you to recover so fully?"

Éowyn considered her words for a moment. "A shadow lay upon me; I stood upon some dreadful brink, and it was utterly dark in the abyss beneath my feet. I wished to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the King, for he died and had both honour and peace, yet I was cruelly denied this."

When Éowyn paused, Truva did not speak, and merely waited for Éowyn to continue. "Then one came to see me, though in truth I sought him out first, and into my black chasm he brought light and hope, and caused the shadow to depart. I will be a shield maiden no longer. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren."

"You are to become a healer!" exclaimed Truva. "It is unexpected, certainly, though perhaps—"

"I am to be married," Éowyn interrupted.

"Married!" Truva cried, wholly shocked at this revelation. "But— I thought— Does that mean—?"

Éowyn shook her head, guessing Truva's question. "No, not Lord Aragorn, for no longer do I desire to be a queen; no, it is Lord Faramir I am to marry."

"Lord Faramir!" said Truva, well and truly astounded. "The Steward?"

"With the ascension of King Aragorn, we shall pass into Ithilien and live there."

"And leave your own people?" asked Truva. "What of your brother, Éomer King? And the Mark?"

"Sauron has fallen, the shadow has passed, and through great deeds of valor my brother has risen as King. Not only in times of war, well did he observe as Théoden King ruled with fairness and grace in times of peace. No, you need not worry overly for my brother."

"I shall miss you terribly."

"And I, you," said Éowyn, reaching out and taking Truva's hands in her own, and they passed a moment in silence, content in the knowledge that good things had come to pass.

"Well, let us go and revel in this news of your marriage!" said Truva, "And in victory, and in friendship that shall ever be unhindered by borders – that is, if you are well enough."

"I am more than well enough," said Éowyn. "I stay in the Houses of Healing only because it has become to me of all dwellings the most blessed."

With that the two linked arms and exited the garden, only to encounter Halbarad and Galador just as they turned a nearby corner. The four banded together and followed the noise of elated celebrations, which led them to a crowded pub, thick with all manner of folk from the furthest corners of Middle Earth. The Holbytla Meriadoc stood upon a table – his stature hardly even with the heads of the tall Dúnedain who cheered around him – singing a lively ballad about his homeland and the beautiful Halfling girls that dwelled there.

So many had gathered in the tiny tavern that it was nigh impossible to approach the barkeep, yet even as Halbarad shouted over the heads of the crowd, a voice cried out:

"Oi, oi, make way!" it cried, "For the Queen of the Hidlands comes this day!"

Truva glanced about, only to lay eyes upon Chaya, who sat in a corner boasting of the deeds of her Marshal to her fellow revelers. "The Hidlands have no Queen!" Truva shouted in response.

"No charge for the heroines of the Hidlands," the barkeep said, "Provided they give us a song!"

"A song!" Truva balked. She turned to Éowyn and asked, "Will you not do the honors?"

"Me?" said Éowyn, feigning innocence and a cough. "How can you make such a request of one so recently snatched from the jaws of death itself? Besides, I am no Hidlander."

"Nor am I a singer, or poet! Even if I were to know a song or two – which I most certainly do not – I would not know how to keep the tune," she said, casting about desperately for another victim. "What say you, Halbarad? Your rank is far higher than mine!"

"Look not to me!" Halbarad shrugged with a laugh. "If it is a heroine they call for, it is a heroine who should answer!"

"It is not for your own edification, lass, but for the enjoyment of our patrons!" the barkeep cajoled. "Your reputation spreads a fair sight further than you know, and any word from you would greatly enliven our crowds."

Truva then acquiesced – not for the promise of uncharged alcohol, nor to raise the spirits of those already ensnared in its web, but to avoid further confrontation. Chaya gestured for her to ascend the table that served that night as a stage, and the minstrels struck up a song. Truva listened a few bars before she attempted unsuccessfully to match their meter:

Ten hundred's Men, save all but thee—

stood then before some Nazgûl three,

yet could not one hope conquer me

for now evermore here shall I be

On Cormallen's field, one tree by tree

stood all our Men for all to see

Bold and brave, and tall and free—

thus forevermore we shall be free!

"Atrocious!" came the response to her paltry verses, followed by cheers of agreeance, as well as, "There were a great many more Nazgûl than that!" and "Your last two lines rhymed the same word!"

Truva descended from the table, grateful to retreat into the safety of her friends' company, and accepted the tankard Chaya shoved into her hands as the others chuckled in amusement.

"It is a very fortunate thing that your skills on the battlefield are far superior to your singing skills, otherwise we would have been doomed!" said Halbarad.

"Was it not we ourselves who were doomed, in having to listen to such a rendition?" Chaya quipped.

"Or perhaps we should have urged her to sing upon the battlefield, for surely it would have driven our enemy frantic, and caused them to lay down their arms or run away!" Galador jibed, yet suddenly altered tone and spoke aside to Truva. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know that pretty girl from this morning? The one whose flowers you so barbarously stole from me?"

"Aerin? That is, I might," Truva said noncommittally. "The flowers were indisputably mine, however."

"Will you not put in a good word for me?"

"Has everyone gone mad?" Truva cried, even as she observed Halbarad and Chaya glancing furtively at each other. "Are we to go from the throes of hatred and war to falling in love with the first person we see?"

"Oh, do not be so reproving," Éowyn soothed, "To flirt and fall in love is the right of those who have lived through such times. Now have another drink and let us rejoice!"

"No doubt you would say such things, having yourself just pledged to marry," said Truva, nevertheless accepting the pint Éowyn handed her. She surreptitiously interchanged it with the full one she still possessed and joined the fray – commiserating with fellow soldiers, bashfully accepting the adulations of admirers, and allowing herself to remove the mantle that had fallen upon her shoulders in recent days.

After a time, it was with great discomfort that Truva observed the sons of Elrond mingling with the other revelers, for her shame in having failed to recognize their derivation continued to strain her relation with the Elves; yet it was they who extended a stiff greeting upon approaching her.

"The earnestness in your ballad was palpable," said one, and though Truva knew now that they were twins, she still could not distinguish which one spoke.

"I have sat in the Hall of Fire of Rivendell and listened to the songs that grace its hearth, and thus I cannot but help interpret your words as mocking, though I am sure it is deserved," said Truva.

"We speak not derisively," said the other. "Merely as an overture of peace."

"We believe our manners to have been curt that day, ere we reached the gates of Morannon."

"Indeed, one cannot be expected to know that which they have not been taught; the fault lies thus with us. I am Elladan, the elder, and you may know me by the silver leaves with which I pin my cloak."

"And I am Elrohir, the younger, and I have chosen a brooch of golden leaves. You are far from the first to struggle in this way, and so we devised this system."

"Perhaps someday we shall be afforded time in which we might relate to you or history, and that of our people," said Elladan.

"We had believed the horse people's knowledge of history to be lacking, yet along our journey you demonstrated surprising awareness of a great many things in Middle Earth," said Elrohir. "We should like to expand upon that understanding."

"It would be an honor," said Truva, bowing before the Elves.

"Now, shall we make merry the mood with a ballad of our own?" suggested Elrohir to Elladan, and together the Elves took to the table and graced the crowds with music, the grace of which had been theretofore unknown to those halls.

Evening turned to night, and the chaos grew as the darkness deepened. It was with ease that Truva evaded notice as she slipped out the door of the tavern, leaving behind her second glass as untouched as the first. She paced through the streets, consumed in thought, and it was not until she found herself before the lawn of the Citadel that she became aware of her surroundings.

She ached to see Théoden King once more, yet rumors indicated he and Éofa had been moved to the inaccessible Hallows of the City. Even if that were not the case, Truva knew not whether the meeting of the Captains had concluded, or whether there were those who would remain in discussion deep into the night. Thus, with one last lingering glance toward the White Tower, Truva returned to the Hidland sleeping quarters, where only a tiny handful of soldiers slept already upon their bedrolls.

Truva awoke early the next morning, for the troops' rest in Ithilien had revived her body fully, even if her mind was still at unease. The periwinkle dawn cast against the white City walls shifted to a watery yellow as the languid sun rose over the unobscured Ephel Dúath, a sight which Truva never tired of seeing.

As she wandered the empty, echoing streets, still littered with flowers from the previous day, Truva allowed her feet to follow their own will. Before the departure of the Army of the West to the Black Gate, she had attributed the suffocating sensation she felt within the walls of the White City to the loss of her King and Marshal, and her apprehension over the approaching battle; yet now that the battle had passed, she knew not what to think.

Perhaps it was the very nature of the City itself; its walls, its streets and rigid stone houses – they were all lines and edges and barriers. Truva longed for the openness of the plains, for homes and halls that harmonized with surrounding nature, not jarred harshly with it. Even as she made a circuit about the garden in the Houses of Healing, there was no sense of wilderness or freedom there; the trees and flowers felt intentional and predetermined, struggling against the battlements that enclosed them.

Unable to shake her glum mood, Truva returned to the barracks where a great many Hidlanders had arisen and were eating breakfast cheerfully. For them, the end of all things had been but the beginning of their journey, and now they had their entire freedom to anticipate, unburdened by any great shadow.

Each fighter greeted her respectfully as she passed into the dining hall, though she waved for them to remain seated when she stood at the head of the table. "Please, I am sure you are hungry; do not disturb your meal for my sake. I ask only that you tarry here after you have finished, for there are discussions which we must yet broach."

And with that, Truva helped herself to breakfast as well. She chatted lightheartedly with the others until the entirety of the Hidland forces had concluded their meal, and sat nonchalantly about the immense tables.

"Now, if we are all well and truly full, let us begin," said Truva, rising to her feet as the fighters grew hushed. "From this point forward, there will be no Hidland army – least not one that I lead."

This announcement was met with stunned silence, which broke suddenly into frenzied whispers and a few cries of despair. Truva raised her hand and spoke over the noise, "Please, allow me to explain. Since our departure from the Hidlands, you have ever been free to leave, yet not one fighter has strayed from our path. Moreover, a good many free Hidlanders have fought with honor by the side of those they once called slaves."

Applause broke out at these words, and Truva allowed it to continue until it petered out, for all men who once did wrong deserved recognition upon proving themselves changed. She spoke once the hall was silent again.

"Now, every single one of you is free of any sense of obligation you might have felt at one time, and thus it falls upon you to decide how you might proceed. I cannot promise you anything, save this: that even now, emissaries from all across Middle Earth gather here to pay obeisance to the newly crowned King, and at some point our turn shall come. I intend to implore the King on our behalf, and ask that he give leave for us to go where we will, and become a people of our own choosing.

"So consider thoroughly the options that might be granted you, and limit yourself not:

"You may of course return to the Hidlands and renew your life there, in whichever way you find most suitable. In addition, I know you shall forever be welcome in Rohan – as a soldier or otherwise. Or perhaps you wish to linger in the great City of Minas Tirith and live within or before its glorious walls; I am certain they will need a great many hands to assist in its reconstruction. There is also Dol Amroth upon the Bay of Belfalas, and all the southern cities of Gondor. In our travels, we have met a vast array of people; think on what they have told you of their homelands, and whether you might be happy there or no."

As soon as Truva was finished, a clamor of voices rose up all at once, for the question of what would become of them after their victory had been on their minds for quite some time. Most expressed a desire to remain among the Eorlingas, though a great many made it clear they had had enough of traveling and fighting and horses, and wanted nothing more than a simple life in Minas Tirith and its farmlands. Others cried out their interest in a number of various cities and villages, the residents of whom they had grown close with recently. It was only a limited few who felt any desire to return to the lands from whence they came.

Truva raised her voice over the commotion to bring the gathering back into order. "Very well, thus shall it be spoken to King Aragorn, and if fate favors us, he shall acquiesce to our desires."

As Truva left the dining hall, she beckoned for Chaya to follow her. The fighters erupted into excited conversation behind them, yet it was not until the two were in the street beyond the barracks that Truva spoke. "Well, my faithful companion," she began, "I noticed your reluctance to speak earlier. What of you? What do you wish to make of your future?"

"It is my hope to return to the Hidlands, if you will allow it," said Chaya.

"I am no longer your commander anymore; leastaways, not for much longer. There is no need to ask permission," said Truva, "Yet I am very pleased – and somewhat relieved – to hear of your plans. I believe the Hidlands will benefit greatly from your presence."

"Will you not come?" Chaya asked softly.

"The Mark is my home now, and Éomer my King," said Truva.

"And what of Gondor?" said Chaya, her tone insinuating that there might yet be some unspoken reason for Truva to remain behind in Minas Tirith.

"Rohan will serve Gondor faithfully as strong allies once more," said Truva, obstinately refusing to return Chaya's suggestive looks. "I shall accompany you to the Hidlands ere I return to Edoras, however. I feel guilt even now for the state of turmoil in which we abandoned them."

"Guilt!" exclaimed Chaya. "There are none who should feel guilt, save those who deprived us of our freedom and treated us no better than bugs they might crush underfoot. You freed us, and for that there are no deeds we might render to sufficiently repay that debt."

"It is not a debt you owe to me, rather a debt the world owed to you; I was merely the vessel by which it was paid. But come, let us not speak of such dreary things! I have some rather more enjoyable business to attend to." And with that, Truva led Chaya down to the third level of the City, where the windows of the seamstress' shop gleamed in the afternoon sun, the single pane still broken.

When the pleasant shop bell heralded their appearance, Aerin and her friends immediately set upon the two Hidlanders, atwitter in their enthusiasm.

"Oh, Truva, it is so good of you to come! — You are so kind! — How handsome you looked with your armor flashing in the sun yesterday morn! — With brash weapons at your side! — Proud and prominent amidst so many men! — And your friend, too! — Hulloo, what is your name? — Chaya, you say? — So terribly pleased to meet you! — Two brilliant stars glistening in the night sky, you were! — Jewels upon velvet! — We began construction on a garment when you departed the City — But oh, everything seemed so drab! — Nothing even remotely befitting your unparalleled grace! — We must have started over seven times, at least! — Seven? More like seventeen! — Or seventy!"

And as the ladies chattered, Truva and Chaya could hardly get a word in edgewise as they were pushed and primmed, laced and bowed, stuffed into all manner of decadent silks and satins and taffetas and brocades and velvets in colors of the rainbow Truva did not know existed. There were measuring tapes, scissors of various sizes, pins and their cushions, and quite a few instruments the purpose of which Truva could scarcely guess.

As the seamstresses worked, Truva insisted on compensating them for their efforts, both for her and Chaya – whom Truva was determined to provide for, as all the Hidland fighters had yet been deprived of any opportunity to earn their own income. The seamstresses would not hear of it, however, and merely drowned out Truva's declarations by raising the volume of their own exclamations. Finally, after a great chorus of goodbyes, the Hidlanders were ceremoniously ejected onto the street, to return to their accommodations.

Several days passed and Aragorn had greeted emissaries from all corners of Middle Earth: the southern fifes, and from Mirkwood, as well as the Eorlingas' defeated neighbors the Dunlendings. He had even forgiven the Easterlings and made peace with the people of Harad, and yet he had not granted an audience to Éomer King and his Riders. The other éored saw this as a sign of honor, for in their minds it signaled the Gondorian King's affection for his Rohirric counterpart, but Truva felt trapped and deeply unhappy, overcome by an inescapable fog.

It was not until the third day, long after King Aragorn had given Lake Núrnen to the freed slaves of Mordor and appointed a rogue Citadel guard to the Steward's White Company in Ithilien, that at great last the summons came: a messenger stepping smartly through to the Hidlanders' mess hall as they sat down for breakfast.

"I bear word from King Aragorn of the line of Elendil, to Marshal Truva of the Mark and Hidlands!" he cried, snapping into a salute just inside the door. Truva sat with toast halfway to her mouth, for never in all her life had she been addressed so formally; it took her aback a moment, until she realized the messenger was waiting upon her to deliver his news.

"Yes, yes, go ahead," she said.

"The King requests your presence, as a Marshal of the Mark to King Éomer, as well as an emissary for your own people. Both parties shall be granted an audience upon the top of the hour." With that, the messenger about-faced and marched sharply out of the hall.

Truva glanced beyond the window to judge the time and immediately leapt to her feet. "Son of Eorl!" she muttered, leaving her half-eaten toast on her plate and motioning to Chaya. They and a selection of other Hidlanders frantically donned their armor and dashed to the Citadel. Éomer King and Elfhelm Marshal already awaited them, similarly accompanied by a handful of the King's Riders.

"Truva, at last!" said Éomer King. "What delayed you so?"

"We came as soon as the summons were delivered!" Truva said, bowing to her King before she drew close. "My lord, if I might have a word?"

"You would ask a favor upon such an impudent transgression as being late?" the King asked lightheartedly, though his jovial spirit deflated somewhat when he took note of Truva's agitated countenance. "What is it that you wish?"

"First, if I may beg your highness to extend the same courtesy to the Hidlanders that my lord's father once extended to me: that is, a home within the Mark."

"You need not even ask; how could I possibly refuse those who have fought amongst our number with a bravery that Helm himself would have envied?" said the King.

"I would also ask leave to return north to the Hidlands – at least for a short while," Truva added. The King appeared taken aback by her request, though he was quick to recover.

"To see your expression now, I do believe you would go regardless, whether I gave you leave or no," said Éomer King, peering closely into her face. "Yet I give it to you willingly – indeed, enthusiastically – for your presence will surely be a great asset to those wishing to establish a more egalitarian community there. When do you intend to depart?"

"We would return with the Eorlingas as far as Edoras ere we—" Truva began, yet before she could finish, the doors to the White Tower of Ecthelion were thrown open and several dignitaries emerged, Halbarad foremost amongst them.

"How stately do the Dúnedain appear," Éomer King remarked quietly. Truva thought back on all her experiences with the Ranger, of all the tales he had told her, of secretly observing Aragorn and Éowyn in Rivendell, and listening in in on the Dúnedain chieftain's counsel with Théoden King, and she was forced to stifle an incredulous snort. Halbarad was undeniably a distinguished individual, yet to characterise him as stately was beyond her.

Truva's attention was diverted when both she and Éomer King, representative of separate yet intertwined peoples, were shown along the lengthy corridor to the Hall of the Kings. The wide stone floor where the bodies of Théoden King and Éofa had lain ere they were given a place of rest within the Hallows lay bare; the emptiness drew the eye to the throne, perched upon a raised dais at the far end of the Hall.

Even as Éomer and Truva approached, King Aragorn rose and descended the steps of the dais to embrace the Eorlingas King, saying, "Between us there can be no word of giving or taking, nor of reward; for we are brethren. In happy hour did Eorl ride from the North, and never has any league of peoples been more blessed, so that neither has ever failed the other, nor shall fail.

"Now, as you know, we have laid Théoden the Renowned in a tomb in the Hallows, and there he shall lie for ever among the Kings of Gondor, with Éofa the Truehearted at his side. Or if you desire it, we will come to Rohan and bring them back to rest with their own people."

Éomer King bowed deeply out of reverence for the King's words, saying, "I must depart for a while to my own realm, where there is much to heal and set in order. But as for the Fallen, when all is made ready we will return for them; but here let them sleep a while."

"As you wish it, so it shall be done," said King Aragorn. Then he turned to Truva and addressed the Hidlanders. "And as for you, what path shall you take? For a people so selfless as to chance their suddenly gained freedom by accompanying the Armies of the West – and in doing so demonstrating their unparalleled ferocity in the defense of lands unknown to them – there is no gift I might give unto you that will repay our indebtedness; yet if there is desire in your heart, speak it and it shall be done, if it is within my power."

"We wish nothing more than the freedom to live where we will, for many among our number do not wish to return to that land in which great evil was done upon them," said Truva, bending to one knee before the King. "We beg leave to take up residence in this City of Minas Tirith, or Osgiliath when it is rebuilt; and ask that you speak on our behalf to the Prince of Dol Amroth, so that we might bide by the sea, or in Gondor's southern lands."

"So simple a favor?" said King Aragorn gently. "Yet will your people be so easily sundered? For these many months you have traveled together and fought in brotherhood; will this be its conclusion?"

"We are not a people in the way that you and the Dúnedain are a people, my lord, or in the way that the Gondorians or Eorlingas are a people. We are not bound by a shared culture or a shared purpose; we are bound only by a commonality that we do not necessarily wish to preserve: having lived under the ownership of another Man."

"For my lack of discernment, I apologize," the King said, taking Truva's hand and bidding her rise. "Your will is done, for I need not ask Prince Imrahil to know his answer; already he has spoken to me and offered the stateless refugees of the Hidlands shelter upon his shores. I give you leave to live among my people anywhere within the borders of Gondor, and I might yet wield some influence even beyond these lands – though I do believe it is not my words, rather your pride and valor that speaks more strongly and endears others to your cause."

"Thank you, my lord," said Truva, bowing once again, yet as she turned to follow Éomer King from the Hall, Aragorn spoke once again.

"And you, Truva? Whither do you return?" he asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper, so that even the closest Hidlander did not hear as they exited toward the corridor beyond. Contrary to the King's nonchalant tone, his anticipation was apparent, for he knew the answer even as the words left his lips. "Will you not stay in Gondor?"

"You shall ever have my allegiance, my lord, as a Marshal of the Mark and a subject of its crown," replied Truva, her voice equally low, "Yet my duty belongs to the Hidlanders, and to Éomer King, and it is with them I shall ride when they depart."

She withdrew her hand from his, for he held it still, and flew with hurried steps down the corridor after the Eorlingas, so that she might not face Aragorn's crushed countenance, or reveal her own tumultuous emotions. Still lost in thought when she emerged from the White Tower, Truva nearly collided with the Wizard Gandalf, who bustled hurriedly in the direction of the Citadel.

"Ah, Truva!" he said when they both had come to their senses. "The very person I was looking for! Will you not accompany me to my quarters? I've some important matters to discuss with you."

"As you wish," said Truva, motioning for the Hidlanders who glanced back to continue on without her. Gandalf led her through a maze of lanes and alleyways to a fair room upon the northern side of the city. He beckoned her to one side of the room, where three arched windows looked out upon the view of the Pelennor below.

He examined her face meticulously in the strong morning light that streamed in through the windows, saying not a word all the while. As usual, Truva knew not what to make of the Wizard's behavior, so she merely waited until at length he spoke.

"I heard it is your intention to return to Edoras with your King," he said, giving no indication as to the purpose behind this statement.

"Indeed it is," said Truva, failing to elaborate, determined to be as close as the Wizard himself; yet Gandalf merely nodded thoughtfully at her response, wholly oblivious to the consternation he caused, absorbed in his own impenetrable ruminations. Then, as if suddenly recalling Truva's presence, he continued:

"Very good, very good," he said, "Yet while I may not feign to be commander of your will, I would advise you thus: travel first to the Hidlands, accompanying those that might return there. News out of the north suggests some ill is afoot, and I fear the Hidlands can no longer boast of the isolation that once protected them."

"Even so, it was my plan to travel thither from Edoras and ensure the stability of those Lands," said Truva.

"Excellent!" exclaimed the Wizard, and a less dignified personage might have even clapped his hands. "If that be the case, I wish you good fortune upon your journey, and ask only that you keep your eyes and ears open for whispers of misdeeds in those lands. I hope that we might yet meet again someday."

"It would be an honor," said Truva, taking her leave of Gandalf, bemused as ever.