Author's recommended listening: Mozart, Sinfonia Concertante for Violin, Viola and Orchestra in E flat
CHAPTER III: THE BANQUET
Truva's somnolent bliss did not last long. The dim light of dawn had scarcely begun to creep in through the window when she awoke, for she was simply too accustomed to arising early. She heard no sound of anyone else stirring in the house when she emerged from her room, and therefore decided to make herself useful. She scoured the corner where the family appeared to prepare food, searching for ingredients to any of the limited dishes she knew how to cook.
When she determined there were sufficient vegetables for a simple stew and had located a pot, Truva gathered the ingredients and went in search of firewood. She acknowledged her actions were immensely presumptuous; it was possible the family had set aside these foods for some specific purpose, yet Truva was now confident enough in her foraging skills that she knew she would be able to replace what she intended to use if need be.
She discovered a stack of firewood outside and proceeded to build a fire a short distance from the house entrance, where it would be far easier to cook than over the elaborate fireplace inside. Other early risers who came and went from the neighbouring houses observed her sceptically, but scurried away when Truva caught them staring.
The stew was nearly complete when Éomód opened the front door and peered out at her, sleepily scratching his head. "What are you doing?" he inquired. "And so early in the morning?"
"I made breakfast!" beamed Truva, quickly adding, "I hope it was not too much of an imposition."
"Oh, how splendid! Neither Héodis nor I enjoy cooking in the morning. You even made use of our wilting vegetables, I see! Well done, well done," he said as he emerged from the house and assisted Truva in carrying the soup indoors and setting it upon a small table of iron, which sat against the wall.
"This is a stove," he explained, indicating the iron table. He opened a small door on the front. "In here you set a fire, then you can cook things either in the furnace itself, or on top of the stove."
"What about the fireplace?" asked Truva. Even the Fighters' Quarters had a fireplace that the slaves huddled around in winter, though it was no more than an open pit in the dirt floor of the barracks' central area. A decorative fireplace built into the very wall of a house was an entirely unfamiliar concept to Truva.
"It is almost exclusively used for warmth, though sometimes simply warmth of spirit!" said Héodis as she emerged from the room opposite. "And while the primary purpose of the stove is for cooking, it too serves to ward off the chill in winter, and our home is small enough that usually one or the other is sufficient to keep us warm. Though I digress – what is that lovely smell?"
"Our guest was so kind as to make breakfast!" Éomód exclaimed enthusiastically as he ladled the stew into bowls he had pulled from a cupboard.
"Éofa taught you well, I see!" Héodis said to Truva, greeting her husband with an embrace and peering curiously into the pot.
"What about Fulmod?" asked Éomód.
"He is still abed; let him sleep a little while longer. You know how positively disagreeable he can be when roused earlier than he likes."
"I know all too well. Let us eat all this soup without him, then!" Éomód jested as he sat down at the table, passing one bowl to his wife and setting another before Truva.
"Ah!" exclaimed Héodis as they began their meal, "There are rumours a banquet is to be held tonight, in light of the Riders' safe return."
"Rumours already? How did you hear such tales so quickly?"
"Several of the market greengrocers witnessed the company's arrival yesterday and immediately relayed it to every person they knew – including the king's chef, who promised a grand feast."
"Well, I'll be! Have you ever been to a party before?" Éomód asked Truva.
"I have," Truva replied, "As the entertainment."
"I imagine you shall find participating quite different," said Héodis kindly, for though Truva's cavalier attitude made her feel somewhat unsettled, she believed it not to be intentional, rather an effect of the new arrival's strange upbringing. She was nevertheless thankful that the sound of Fulmod rustling in the other room provided her with an excuse to stand and exit. Truva stood as well, collecting dishes with the intent to wash them.
"Allow me to assist," said Éomód.
"No, please relax," said Truva.
"Truly, washing dishes is no task for guests. Besides, for all we know, you might go all the way down to the river to wash them without knowing any better!"
It was at that moment that a heavy knock was struck upon the door and, just as Éofa had done the previous evening, Éomer entered without so much as waiting for a response. "A very good morning to you all! I have come to check on our new ward!"
"Good morning, my lord!" Truva called back, relieved to see a familiar face, yet still unsure of the proper form of address. Had not Éofa said something with regard to Éomer being of some elevated rank the previous day? Yet the term escaped her, for her mind had been so entirely overwhelmed.
"And a very good morning to you, too!" Éomód greeted his cousin. "We were just washing dishes. Would you care to join us?"
"Is there any more joyous way to spend such a morning than washing dishes?" jested Éomer. "I see you have already been introduced to Truva's cooking skills. I would have you know, she had never cooked so much as a single dish in her life when we found her! It is largely thanks to your brother that she can cook at all."
Together they carried the bowls outside and washed them in a low trough, though three bowls to clean between the three of them meant that they were finished almost as soon as they had started. When they returned indoors, Héodis was just emerging from the room with Fulmod.
"Ah, good morn, Éomer! Would you care for a bowl of stew?" Héodis asked as she prepared a small dish for the grumpy-countenanced toddler.
"No, thank you. I must be off soon, though it does smell delicious. And on the very same subject as food, have you heard tell of the feast?" said Éomer as they all took seats at the dining table.
"In passing," said Éomód, with a cheeky glance at his wife.
"Héodis, could I perhaps convince you to lend one of your lovely dresses to our guest? It is an imposition, I know, and yet a single day's notice is far too insufficient to order anything new."
"A dress? I have no need of a dress," Truva baulked.
"Would you prefer to attend in a sleeping gown?" chided Héodis before turning to Éomer and saying, "I would love to!"
"She adores dressing others up, so consider it more a favour to her," Éomód laughed.
"I thought so much!" said Éomer, rising. "Well, I must check on my troops and ensure they have not grown indolent in my absence – though I am certain they have."
"It was lovely seeing you," Truva said with all sincerity.
"And I, you," replied Éomer. "I shall see you all again tonight!"
"Goodbye!" called Éomód as Éomer shut the door behind him.
"Now," said Héodis, turning to Truva and rubbing her hands together in anticipation, "It is time to test my skills!"
"I, too, must be off. Horses await!" said Éomód.
"Yes, yes, yes," said Héodis dismissively as she waved in the direction of her husband, never once taking her eyes off Truva. "That is all very well and good, but what is to be done with you?"
Truva was to learn that there was indeed quite a lot that could be done, and she felt entirely bewildered by the complexity of Héodis' task, and the seemingly endless layers of clothing. As Fulmod played in the sea of fabric that littered the floor, Héodis demanded Truva try on a parade of dress after dress, ultimately deciding upon a burgundy one.
"Because it accentuates your brown eyes," she explained. Truva did not wish to upset Héodis any further by revealing that she had not known until that precise moment what colour her eyes were. Hoping to avoid any pitying looks from Héodis, she simply stared at the cloth in her hand. To others, such a dress might have been described as plain – rough, even – yet in Truva's eyes it was the finest regalia imaginable, and she was thrilled by the thought of donning such splendour.
"For now, however," said Héodis, breaking Truva's reverie, "Put on this ordinary sheath. I shall take you to the market and show you off around Edoras!"
Even the simple, cream coloured sheath was splendid compared to anything Truva had ever worn. She quickly pulled it over her head without a word, revelling in the flowing swish of the skirt as she followed Héodis into the main room, where she was handed a basket.
"Make yourself useful, now!" said Héodis. "I imagine we will eat so much tonight that we shall still be full tomorrow morn, yet I am determined to bake bread in the meantime!"
Héodis walked out the front door with Truva and Fulmod in tow. As the trio made their way down the hill in the direction of the massive gate through which Truva had entered the previous day, Héodis called out greetings to all they passed in her native tongue, leaving Truva to do little more than bow politely.
It was not long before they reached the market, yet it was wholly different from the one Truva had languished in for years. She realised now that the market she was accustomed to had been tiny, full of traders constantly irritated with each other and their customers, a physical manifestation of the frustration and anger that dominated their lives.
The atmosphere of this market was not even remotely similar. The hubbub and bustle dwarfed that of the Hidlands; in place of an angry racket were pleasant sounds, and rather than threatening to fight each other, vendors and their customers seemed to haggle in a neighbourly way. Each greeted the other with smiles and friendly gestures.
"Good morning, Dernrid!" Héodis called out in the Common Tongue as they approached a stall, colourfully laden with the season's fruit and vegetables. "I would like you to meet Truva, a visitor from beyond our lands!"
"Lovely to meet you!" the greengrocer replied, shaking Truva's hand heartily. "And you brought the little one with you! I have a treat hidden away just for you," she said, handing Fulmod a small handful of grapes from under the display.
"What do we say?" prompted Héodis.
"Thank you," whispered Fulmod, shyly burrowing his face into his mother's dress. He then proceeded to shove as many grapes as would fit into his mouth.
"You are most welcome," chuckled Dernrid, then turning to Héodis and asked, "Have you heard news of the feast?"
"Nothing but!" said Héodis.
"It has been terribly bad for business this morning!" Dernrid complained. "Not a single soul has any intention of cooking food well into next week, I reckon!"
"Come now, do not be too put out. It has been quite a long while since we have had such reason to celebrate! And I have every intention of being a single soul with the intention of cooking, for I am in need of some potatoes."
"Very well, you always have been the sunlight to my rain. Here you are, my dear, as well as some scallions for having brought me levity this day. They would have gone bad anyway, for I shan't sell them any time soon," she said, dismissing Héodis' polite gestures of refusal.
"I shall see you at the banquet, then?"
"Would not miss it for the world!"
Héodis and Truva continued through the market, the latter constantly jogging to catch up with the former after having paused to observe each unfamiliar sight. Every corner, every stall revealed a new point of fascination to her: trinkets and toys, jewellry, weaponry, sweets. Héodis feigned not to notice so that she might not cause Truva to feel self-conscious, and even made a point to walk slower, for she could not help but feel touched by the newcomer's astonishment.
Héodis stopped before one particularly luxurious cart, draped in soft, dark grey velvet. "Do you know what these are?" Héodis asked Truva, motioning to a collection of hand-sized metal items with long spikes. Some had many prongs, some only had one, yet all were topped with intricate designs of flowers and animals. A few were even inlaid with beautifully coloured stones or jewels.
"Weapons? Cooking utensils?" ventured Truva as Héodis repressed a laugh.
"They are combs, for your hair. Like this," she said as she placed one in her own golden hair, which was neatly braided in a crown about her head.
"I have seen jewels like this at the market where I lived before; they are on the rare occasion used as currency," explained Truva, hesitant to name her origin, "But the villagers had no need of any ornamentation, and so it was with infrequency the few passing traders brought such items to barter with."
"That is quite logical," said Héodis, extricating a particularly sharp comb from Fulmod's curious fingers, then removing the one from her plaits as well. "Your hair is the most unique I have ever seen. No maiden in the Mark grows such locks."
"It was so in my Village, as well," Truva said as she pulled a few of her braids forward so that she might see her hair. The primary colour was deep brown, so dark it was almost black – all save for a streak of white toward the front, about three fingers wide, so pure a white that the only thing Truva knew to compare it to was the undisturbed snow on the mountaintops in winter in the valley of her childhood. Her piebald colouring had led to the nickname 'Magpie' in the Hidlands, a term which Truva wholeheartedly despised.
Héodis paused thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating Truva. "I suppose something ordinary will not do," she muttered to herself before lifting Fulmod into her arms. "I have something to show you. Follow me."
They walked much faster once they exited the market, though Héodis continued to greet everyone they passed as the trio walked among clusters of houses. Héodis led them even further downhill, toward the very wall and main gate itself.
Upon reaching the entrance, Héodis and Truva were let through a smaller entrance beside the main gates, with a promise to the sentries to be back shortly. They had not gone far, however, when Héodis halted suddenly before a series of small grassy hillocks that lined both sides of the main road, covered in flowers as white as the streak in Truva's hair.
"These are the Kings of the Riddermark. Here lies Thengel, father of our great king Théoden, and his father, Théoden's father's father, all the way back to our first king, Eorl, who tamed the untamable white stallion, Felaróf. You know nothing of these deeds as of yet, I am sure, yet it is my hope that one day our history will become your own."
"That is my wish as well," said Truva with all sincerity. Héodis nodded, then bent to pluck one of the white flowers.
"Simbelmynë. It grows unceasing upon the graves of our forebears." She held the blossom up before her, comparing it to Truva's plaits. "I believe it suits you far better than any manmade ornamentation."
"Is it not presumptuous to dress myself in the flowers of Kings?" Truva asked.
"The steed of Thengel has long since joined him, and together their spirits have ridden off into the Fields of Valour many years ago, ending our grieving period. None shall take offence; indeed, I do believe the Eorlingas will interpret it as a subtle tribute to the Mark itself, and as goodwill toward our people," assured Héodis as she bent to pluck a small collection of the flowers.
They returned to the house then, where Héodis placed the flowers in water so that they would not fade. With Truva's assistance, she then began the bewildering process of making bread, and to make a stew from the potatoes they had purchased from Dernrid earlier. Truva observed carefully so that she might add another recipe to her growing collection.
"Let us take a bowl to Éomód at the stables," Héodis said as she removed the stew from the stove, the bread dough rising beside. "He is sure to be hungry, having forgotten to take his midday meal with him this morning."
Truva took charge of the food and Héodis carried Fulmod as they made their way to the stables Truva had been shown the previous day. Éomód was preoccupied with the inspection of a horse's hooves when they entered, though he greeted them warmly and was more than relieved to sit down and eat.
"What are your duties here?" Truva asked as he gratefully accepted the bowl from her.
"I am a farrier," replied Éomód, "It is my job to ensure the horses do not fall sick, and care for them when they inevitably do!"
"They are all so beautiful," Truva remarked, observing the impressive assemblage of horses in every colour imaginable, from midnight black to dapple grey, cremello, buckskin, even blue roan. The creatures that had so recently intimidated her had transformed in her eyes, for she had come to see them as beautiful individuals with personalities in their own right.
"These are the horses of the King, many of them Mearas – descendants of Felaróf. There are none greater in all of Middle Earth!" he bragged. "I heard tell that you have developed a propensity for riding. Though the Mearas bear naught but the Kings and Princes of the Mark, you might yet tame a similar beast one day."
"I dare not have such high hopes; I still struggle to ride," Truva said, stroking the forelock of Éofa's chestnut steed, a horse she had ridden several times along the journey to Edoras. He had been even more spirited than Éomer's mount Firefoot, yet far more entertaining once Truva had grown accustomed to his peculiar stride.
"Well, I must return to my work," said Éomód, having finished the stew. Truva accepted the bowl from him and she and Héodis bade goodbye as he turned back to the horses.
Upon their return to the house, Héodis settled Fulmod in for a nap before she began to tidy up, passing the time before the feast with busywork. Truva immediately leapt to assist. Having spent the majority of her life in a tiny cage, tidying up was something Truva had never previously been expected to do, and she found it quite to her liking, for it gave her a pleasant sense of belonging in the humble home. The tasks also ignited a tiny sense of disquietude within her, however, and caused her to feel as though her presence was an imposition upon this young family, and a source of additional exertion.
When at last the time of the feast approached, Héodis and Truva donned the dresses they had selected that morning. Héodis then bade Truva sit at the dining table, upon which she set an alarming array of brushes and combs and pins.
"Though your hairstyle is truly unique, might you permit me to make a few alterations?" she asked with delicate politeness, eyeing Truva's braids. "I suspect a few of the elders will be quite taken aback at the appearance of a foreigner as it is, and it might perhaps ease your transition if you were to be presented somewhat less… remarkably."
"I have no particular affinity for this style," said Truva. "It was born of necessity and practicality, not any sense of aesthetic. Please, it is with the deepest gratitude that I accept any assistance you choose bestow upon me."
"Very well, then," said Héodis, taking the end of a braid into her hand and removing its tie before slowly unravelling the strands of hair. Even though Truva was fully aware of Héodis' intentions and good will, still her proximity and position behind Truva caused panic to rise within her, which she fought with all her might to smother.
"Would you mind if I inquired as to what necessity required such a severe hairstyle?" asked Héodis, oblivious to Truva's internal turmoil, yet her words gave Truva something new to consider, and she felt her agitation subside somewhat as she debated how much to reveal. As far as she could recall, Héodis did not yet know anything of the situation the Eorlingas had taken her from, and she feared her host would find the details too horrific and beastly to accept; yet the community would surely learn sooner or later, in which case Truva felt she would prefer to know in advance whether she would be rejected, before she grew attached to this new land or its people.
"I was a slave fighter in the Hidden Lands, until your husband's brother and the others rescued me," she said at last, and heard Héodis' sharp intake of breath. The Eorlingas' hands continued wordlessly to work at Truva's hair, however, so she took a deep breath and continued. "Braided hair was the easiest way for fighters to ensure their safety, so that others did not use it against them."
"Could you not cut it?" asked Héodis.
"Some did, though that required a knife. Most of us were not trusted with knives, and as our owners did not find appealing the idea of touching us or devoting their own time to us, they refused to perform the task themselves. Braids were our best alternative, and kept us occupied in the long hours or days between fights. Those whose owners provided at least a little for them were sometimes given ties; others such as myself were forced snatch what we could, or beg from the very few Villagers who pitied our plight enough to toss us a scrap of whatever was at hand."
Héodis remained silent for a while, unbraiding and brushing and pulling and pinning Truva's hair. "The cruelty of Man is boundless," she responded at last through clenched teeth, her regimented words belying a surge of emotion that roiled beneath the surface.
Truva did not speak further, for the discussion had allowed uncertainty to redouble in her mind. She dreaded the idea of what might become of her should the Eorlingas ultimately decide she was too savage, too objectionable to reside among them. Her enthusiasm for the feast suddenly drained, only to be replaced by fear and doubt.
"Come," said Héodis after some time, when the fluttering of her hands had finally ceased. "How long must you have worn your hair in these braids, for the tightness left such a harsh wave that I have not the skill to undo, yet I did what I could."
"Anything is certain to be an improvement," Truva reassured her.
Héodis helped her to stand, for Truva had sat for so long that her legs tingled and refused to move, then led her into the larger bedroom where Fulmod still rested. Together they stood before a long, narrow pane of glass which stood against the wall – yet it was not merely glass; it was like silvery moonlight, and when she looked in it Truva could see her image clearer than any puddle or rippling river had ever revealed.
She gasped at what she saw, for surely it could not be her own reflection: a tall, slim but muscular figure, dressed in a glorious gown with crimped hair tumbling about her shoulders, a simple braided crown framing a long, bony face. Truva had only ever caught a few glimpses of herself in her lifetime, and this figure matched none of them. A stranger stared back at her from the glass.
She leaned in closer to see her face in detail. Though it had healed greatly from the weeks of peaceful travel, years of fighting were deeply engraved upon her features. Her nose was not quite straight, the left brow bone protruded slightly further than the other, and scars criss-crossed her face; and yet she saw her own beauty reflected there, for such were symbols of persistence in the face of unrelenting ruthlessness.
"Do not fear," said Héodis in a soft voice, squeezing her shoulders gently. "The Eorlingas are a perceptive people; they will see you for what lies in your heart, not the evils done unto you." These words only caused Truva to fear what lay within her heart, however, for she herself did not yet know.
Héodis roused Fulmod from his nap and they reentered the main room just as Éomód returned from the stables. He washed up quickly before donning an outfit Héodis had selected for him. Éofa stopped by as well, so that they might make an entrance together.
"Well, don't we all look lovely?" he exclaimed as he took in the collection. "Especially my favourite little nephew," he added, taking Fulmod up into his arms and pinching his plump cheeks, much to the child's chagrin.
The five of them ascended the hill as a group, returning to the great hall where Truva had been introduced to the King the day before. They were joined by throngs of Eorlingas whose buzz of enthusiasm for the feast proved infectious.
"Meduseld," said Éofa as they approached the hall, "Built by Brego, son of Eorl, in the year 2569 of the Third Age. Have you ever seen anything so grand that was built by Man?"
"I cannot in good faith say that I have, save perhaps Hornburg," Truva replied as a new breed of nervousness crept into her heart. The previous day, she had feared that she would not be accepted by her new King – a fear which had not entirely dissipated. The new emotion that coursed through her, however, was born of the fact that not even upon her thousandth fight had she witnessed so many people gathered in one place.
When they entered, her trepidation was instantaneously replaced by sheer amazement at the sights and smells that greeted her. The quiet pensiveness that had hung over the hall the day before was gone, replaced with the glimmering light of torches, the warm press of numerous bodies, and the enticing smell of baking bread and roasting meats. Truva was simultaneously intrigued and overwhelmed.
She did not have much time to consider whether to enter further or run away, however, for their party was immediately spotted by Éomer, who beckoned them toward a table he had staked claim to. He sat at the far end of the hall just before the dais, upon which stood the ornately carved throne of the King, bearing the likeness of many horses racing along golden inlay that traced interwoven patterns from the seat up across the rich mahogany wood of the crest: the Mearas and the golden fields of the Mark.
Already seated at the table beside Éomer was a beautiful young woman and two equally beautiful men, one of whose significantly darker hair stood out from all others.
"Forgive me, Truva, for I nearly failed to recognige you!" declared Éomer as they approached. "You appear as though an entirely different person." Truva knew not whether to interpret his words as compliment or insult, and Éomer sensed her discomfort, though he was deprived of the opportunity to explain himself, for one of the guests seated at the table spoke then.
"Introduce us, introduce us!" prompted the fairer man, who seemed unable to contain his energy as he bounced in his seat.
"Ah, yes," said Éomer, still staring at Truva. "Allow me to introduce possibly the most vexing person in all the Mark, the King's son, my cousin, Théodred."
"I say!" spoke the man called Théodred, "That is a rather rude, albeit accurate introduction!"
Éomer turned to his other companions as though he had not heard Théodred. "This is my dear sister, Éowyn. Well nigh as beautiful as me, is she not? Lastly, this dark-haired wonder is Gríma, the King's advisor. No genetic relation, yet he grew up with us and so it would not be amiss to describe him as brother."
"It is an honour," said Truva with a bow. Éowyn and Gríma smiled politely, in sharp contrast with Théodred, who laughed openly.
"There is no need to stand upon such ceremony! Come now, let us have a drink," he said kindly, yet Éomer stayed his arm.
"Only for the others," he said quietly to his cousin, "She has little experience, I reckon."
Théodred merely winked in response as he leapt up to collect a few flagons of ale. When he arose, it was suddenly apparent to Truva how incredibly tall this Man was, with arms and legs that, due to their length, did not cooperate. Enthusiasm for his task only served to exacerbate his lack of grace.
As he bounded lankily off, Héodis seated herself with Fulmod in her lap as her husband sat across. Éofa sat amongst his brother, Éomer, and Gríma. Noticing her hesitation, Héodis motioned for Truva to sit between her and Éowyn, for which Truva was thankful; the seat had its back to the wall, so that she might observe without being observed.
Théodred returned promptly, with several flagons grasped perilously in one hand and a great platter of all manner of food in the other. He somehow succeeded in placing the platter deftly in the middle of the table, then used his spare hand to distribute the ale. He placed a mug before Héodis, though she indicated Fulmod before sliding it over to Truva with a twinkle in her eye, intentionally ignoring Éomer's frowning countenance.
The food and ale before them remained untouched, however, and Truva therefore wisely concluded it best to follow suit. Those around the table chatted contentedly as the hum of anticipation crescendoed to a roar as more villagers poured into the hall. Truva was thankful for the placement of their table, for she could sense people's curious glances and yet felt a modicum of protection from the wall and her friends about her.
Truva was further distracted from her discomfort by the appearance of half a dozen large dogs, far larger than any of the mutts that wandered the Hidlands, begging for scraps. Those mutts had always ignored Truva, for they knew even they were better fed than she.
"Those dogs—?" Truva wondered, turning to Héodis.
"The King's pack, greyhounds, deerhounds, and wolfhounds all," she said, whistling to the closest, a massive deerhound who sniffed her outstretched hand before turning his attention to Truva. He investigated for traces of snacks and, finding none, licked her hand instead. Truva laughed and ran her fingers through the hound's wiry fur, joyful even when his wagging tail nearly upset the drinks.
The noise in the hall was positively deafening ere Théoden King emerged upon the dais, appearing every bit as regal as when Truva had first met him. Applause overwhelmed the chatter until all had risen to their feet. The King held a hand aloft for silence, then began to address his audience in their own tongue.
Héodis leaned in close to Truva. "He thanks us for joining him on such a momentous occasion, and says that he will be brief, as he is sure we are hungry," she whispered under her breath, translating the King's words even as he spoke.
"'It has been several moons since a company of our finest Riders set forth on a peacekeeping mission to the north,'" she continued. "He speaks now of our current situation: 'As you know, darkness reigns in the east, and the Dunlendings test our borders as ever. It is easy to despair at this news, yet fear not! The danger is not great, and the might of our brave Riders shall never allow harm to befall our beloved Riddermark.'"
Even translated, Truva did not fully understand a great deal of what Héodis said, yet she was content to simply listen to the musical rise and fall of the King's speech.
"'Therefore, we celebrate this night, revelling in the strength of our lands and the spirit of our people!' Oh, oh! He is about to give a salute, take your drink!" Héodis urged, handing Truva her tankard.
"To the Mark!" the King suddenly cried in the Common Tongue, raising his glass.
"To the Mark!" The entire hall echoed so loudly Truva could feel the reverberations through the flagstone floor. Truva raised her voice as well and lifted the tankard to her lips, though she did not drink when others took a deep draught. Théodred might be the son of the King, yet something about Éomer's words set caution in her heart. Moreover, she recalled the terrible effect alcohol had on the free Hidland villagers, and shuddered at the treatment she had suffered as a result.
As soon as they had drunk, Truva's companions sat and immediately set upon the food, selecting delicacies from the large platter in the middle of the table and transferring each to their own individual plates. She observed the others at first, hesitant and unsure of what was expected or appropriate. Some foods Truva had seen before but never eaten, while others were completely unfamiliar to her. What she had been fed in the Hidlands could hardly even be called scraps: wilted vegetables, mouthfuls of grains, mouldy fruit if she was lucky. Even on the journey to Edoras, the riders had relied solely on what little they could forage quickly.
In comparison, the feast spread out before her was nigh on incomprehensible. Truva nibbled a few mushrooms and carrots, as well as any other foods she was familiar with, though she eyed with suspicion the meats that the others dug into with relish. She had only ever seen meat – usually chicken – from afar, through the bars of her cage.
As the others chatted loudly amongst themselves, Héodis noticed Truva's hesitation and took it upon herself to heap an assortment of food onto Truva's plate. "Edoras is not the Hidden Lands, you may eat as you like," she said quietly. "This is pork, from a pig. The darker meat is beef, or cow, and here it is in a pie. The lighter meat is chicken. This is smoked mackerel, which is a fish – an especial delicacy in our lands, as it can only be caught in the sea, not in our rivers."
Though Truva was familiar with most of the meats, she was thankful for Héodis' comprehensive explanations, for it was the first time that she tasted each in turn. She found it difficult to keep up with Héodis' alarming pace, however, and her mouth was so full that she could hardly taste the individual flavours, but Héodis did not interpret Truva's wide-eyed expression as a sign to slow down. "Fresh bread and butter with honey, and best of all: cheese!" she enthused.
It was at that most fortuitous moment, when Truva's mouth was impolitely stuffed and Théodred had nearly knocked over a flagon of ale whilst gesticulating wildly to emphasize his narration of some amusing tale, that the King appeared before their table. Truva leapt to her feet out of respect as he greeted the group.
"Hello, my dear son Théodred! I see that you are keeping your company most entertained! Gríma, Éomer, I will never understand how you endure him so. Éowyn, lovely to see you."
"Hello, uncle!" replied Éowyn.
"Truva, what lovely florals adorn your hair!" said the King, noting the simbelmynë that Héodis had so artfully arranged upon Truva's head.
"Thank you, your highness," Truva replied, struggling to swallow, though she was relieved the King did not remark upon the unusual colour or style of her locks. "Héodis assured me it would be a symbol of my appreciation for the generosity you have shown me."
"And so it is, so it is," smiled the King before turning to the rest of the table. "Now, if you would not mind, I should like to have a private conversation with Éomer and our new guest." The others returned their attention to the food as Truva and Éomer stood and were drawn aside by the King.
"Éomer and I have been conversing," said Théoden King to Truva. "What plans have you for the future? Do you wish to stay in the Mark, or do you wish to travel to other lands?"
"I do not know, though I have pondered extensively on the subject," Truva answered honestly. "I imagine someday I should like to travel to new places, yet for the moment I believe it would please me greatest if I were granted permission to remain here."
"I had hoped you would say so," the King replied. "Éomer spent untold time commending your reputation as a fighter, and your ability to glean new information quickly. I believe it undeniable that Edoras will benefit greatly from your presence among us.
"You are, of course, free to pursue whichever vocation you find most engaging, though it would be false if I did not say we hope you might offer your services in our armed forces. One of our men is to transfer to the East Mark shortly, and you may take his barracks. I think you would make a respectable soldier, should you not find the idea of additional combat disagreeable."
"On the contrary, it would please me greatly; choosing to fight for a noble nation is in no way comparable to being forced to fight for a master as a slave," said Truva, who was especially relieved to know that she would no longer be a burden to Héodis and Éomód.
"It is settled, then. Report to headquarters the day after the morrow for your new assignment. We will inform you as soon as your quarters are ready." With that, the King indicated for Truva to take a seat again. She bowed deeply as he drew Éomer further away, though their conversation was still audible.
"I believe it would be best to keep our new recruit in the capital for now, for there are far more resources here," the King said to Éomer discreetly.
"I am sure Elfhelm Marshal would be more than capable of guiding her, when I return to my position in the East Mark," said Éomer, though a hint of regret tinged his words.
"Be that as it may, I expect she would flourish best under your tutelage," said the King. "I intend to request that Elfhelm maintain his duties in the East Mark, rather than return to Edoras."
"Considering his enthusiasm upon hearing that assignment when you sent me northward, I do not think he would begrudge you," said Éomer diplomatically.
"Precisely. I ask that you take command of the King's forces here in the capital for the time being, until our new ward is on par with our current recruits."
"Understood, my lord," said Éomer, and with that, the King moved off to extend his greetings to the next table. Éomer returned and took a seat beside Truva.
"You are now officially under my protection," he smiled to her. "It is tradition that, in such circumstances, a drink would be in order." Despite his earlier reluctance, he reached past Truva to hand her the tankard of ale Héodis had provided her, then took his own from where it still stood across the table. "To new beginnings!"
"To new beginnings!" repeated Truva, and they touched their glasses together. Truva carefully observed Éomer and drank only as much as he, but upon tasting the foul fluid she nearly spat it out, coughing violently.
"First time drinking ale?" said Éomer, and Truva nodded. "It is powerful!"
"You shall soon get used to it," said Héodis, and it was then that Truva realised they had all been surreptitiously eavesdropping on her conversation with the King.
"Congratulations!" said Éofa. "It shall be a joy to have you join us in training!"
"To new beginnings," chimed in Éomód, raising his tankard.
"To new beginnings!" the entire table cheered, and after their toast Truva choked down another, much smaller sip of ale.
"A cider!" exclaimed Théodred, leaping immediately to his feet and dashing off.
"That cousin of ours is nothing but trouble!" Éowyn remarked to Éomer.
"Cider is equally as potent as ale, though it tastes far sweeter. Be cautions," Éomer warned Truva, for she had been far too occupied with finally tasting the bread and cheese to fully take notice of their comments. When Théodred returned with the cider, she tried it hesitantly and, surprised to be met with the taste of apples, found it far more to her liking than the ale.
Truva continued to eat as the others discussed events that she had no knowledge of around her. Having never had the opportunity to consume so much, she felt full quickly, though she ignored her body's protests and continued to fill her stomach with all manner of delicious food. She washed it down with the refreshing cider, which somehow made her extremities feel tingly. She could scarcely move due to her overconsumption when Théoden King retook his place upon the dais.
"My friends," he spoke in the Common Tongue. "We have one last order of business before this wonderful night concludes, and that is of our new neighbour, Truva. Those of you who have not yet met her personally, I am sure you have heard rumour of her. Come here, my dear."
Truva sat transfixed for a moment before she struggled to her feet. It was somehow more difficult to stand upright than ordinary. She could see a twinkle in Théodred's eyes, and the scowl had returned to Éomer's. She unsteadily made her way toward the dais.
"Great tales of her valour and bravery have reached my ears, and though she might seem a foreigner to us, it is my hope that someday she will come to consider the Mark as her own. Please welcome her into your arms as you would welcome any babe born of your brethren.
"Please kneel before me," Théoden King bade of Truva as he drew his sword. "By the power vested in me, I, Théoden, son of Thengel, born of Fengel of the House of Eorl, as the seventeenth King of the Lands of the Riddermark, hereby declare you a ward of the Mark. May you live among us in peace, and misfortune never touch our borders while you dwell within them."
With that, King Théoden gently tapped each of her shoulders once with his blade, and the hall burst into applause. "You may now call me your liege," said the King.
Truva touched her forehead to the floor, though in that very moment her stomach heaved. "My debt to you is unspeakable, my liege," she spoke, and attempted to compose herself as she arose, yet no sooner had the King dismissed her than Truva bolted from the hall with all haste. It was but a few minutes later that her newfound friends found her around the corner, vomiting all that she had eaten just moments earlier.
"I told you alcohol was foolish!" Éomer scolded Théodred.
"She would have been fine had Héodis not fed her everything under the sun! Imagine that, supplying endless meat to one who has rarely – if ever! – eaten it before! It is far too rich," retorted the Prince, moving immediately to Truva's side and rubbing her back as her body continued to convulse, far too inebriated to notice his touch.
"She would have been fine had you not given her alcohol!" said Héodis, who held a sleeping Fulmod in one hand and brushed Truva's unravelling hair back with the other.
"You were the first to supply her with alcohol!" Théodred accused.
"So she could toast properly!" Héodis countered, "Not so she could drink until senseless!"
"I think we can conclude we are all at fault, for not having considered all possible outcomes, and for failing to care properly for our new charge," said Éomód reasonably.
"How could you deny such a pitiable creature all the food she could desire, and a sip of ale to accompany it?" asked Héodis, rounding on her husband.
"She did eat a great deal," chuckled Gríma.
"I agree a moderate amount of alcohol would not have been out of place," Éowyn added.
"Yet with Théodred, it is never a moderate amount!" quipped Héodis.
"Yes, yes, well, mistakes were made tonight," said Éofa. "Let us retire, and for goodness' sake, get that poor girl some water!"
They all made their way to their respective homes, Théodred following Héodis and company. He and Éomód supported Truva between them, for though the Eorlingas were a tall folk, Truva was still no diminutive figure.
When they arrived at last before the home of Éomód and Héodis, Théodred lingered at the front door, still somewhat indignant that the blame had been placed almost entirely on him, though he grew increasingly apologetic with each passing moment.
"Might I yet be of some help?" he said by way of farewell.
"Goodnight, Théodred," said Héodis, closing the door firmly. She put Fulmod to bed as Éomód forced Truva to drink as much water as she could manage. Together, they got her into bed, placed a bucket within reach in case of emergencies, hoped that she would know what to do with it if necessary, and retired for the night.