Author's recommended listening: Bruch, Concerto for Clarinet & Viola
CHAPTER IV: TRAINING
The next morning, Truva felt as though the world had ended. Never in all her fighting, frostbitten, dehydrated, starved days had she ever endured such agony. Her head felt as if she had lost one thousand consecutive fights by knockout, and her stomach churned as if used as a punching bag by one thousand fighters. The bright sun shining through her window only served to exacerbate her pain.
When she heard Truva rustling in bed, Héodis entered immediately with a steaming bowl of soup and some water. "You must watch out for Théodred, he's a right scamp," she admonished quietly as she handed Truva the soup. "Eat this, it will help. Then drink all the water your stomach will hold."
Truva did as she was ordered, after which she began to feel mildly better. "I am so terribly sorry to have caused you all so much trouble," she said as she brought her bowl into the kitchen.
"It is no fault of yours; it is impossible to avoid what you are ignorant of. And I must admit I should have been more cautious about the food," said Héodis. "But you must not say a word of such things to Théodred!"
As if summoned, the prince entered at that very moment, his manner rather abashed.
"How is our ward this morning?" he inquired.
"Quite the worse for wear, I suspect," replied Héodis, glaring daggers at him.
"I am terribly sorry," said Théodred with head hung and genuine regret in his voice. "But at least you are up and active already, Truva – that is a good sign! And you avoided unloading the contents of your stomach in front of the King, which is an even better sign!"
Truva's stomach churned at the thought, and Héodis was quick in her reprimand. "How dare you mention such distasteful imagery!" she chided. "Begone, you scoundrel, before you worsen her condition!"
"Ah, very well. Yet the King asked that you report to your new assignment tomorrow rather than today, and I very much believe this is the reason!"
"Out!" Héodis said as loudly as she dared, trying to spare Truva's pounding head. Théodred obeyed her command, exiting with a sheepish wave.
Truva passed the rest of the day in desperate desire for it to be over, yet the hours seemed endless, prolonged by her inability to sleep; anticipation and anxiety concerning what was to come the following day overwhelmed her. At long last, the sun broke and – with greatly recovered head – Truva prepared for her first day of training.
When Éomer arrived at the house, Truva was just sitting down to breakfast with Héodis as Éomód dealt with a particularly unruly Fulmod in the other room.
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked Truva after extending the typical greetings.
"Much improved," said Truva.
"That is excellent, for I fear today shall not be an easy day," he replied. "Finish your breakfast quickly, then we shall get started."
"I have already finished," said Truva, standing up to clear away her dishes.
"You have hardly started!" cried Héodis.
"I do not believe I can eat any more. I shall have the rest when I return," said Truva, horrified by the thought of wasting food – something entirely inconceivable to her mere weeks ago.
"Nonsense! I shall set it aside for the dairy cows; they will enjoy it," said Héodis, determined to be an exemplary host, yet nevertheless considerate of her guest's strange peculiarities. "Good luck on your first day!"
"Good luck!" called Éomód from the other room.
"Thank you!" Truva shouted to the house in general as she stepped through the door after Éomer. He was rather taciturn as he led her up the hill in the direction of Meduseld, before turning and making his way toward an open arena of neatly raked sand, which was surrounded by row upon row of tiny, uniform dwellings.
"This is the training yard, and the houses are barracks, including the Marshals' quarters," he said, indicating a slightly larger building, still of the same utilitarian design, just off to his right.
"You live there?" asked Truva, recalling Éofa's brief mention of Éomer's rank.
"One of three, as is Théodred, and another named Elfhelm. Therefore, decorum dictates that you henceforth address each of us with a certain degree of respect. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," said Truva, suddenly far more sober despite the amusing image that the silly, animated Théodred as a significant military figure conjured.
"Now, the Eorlingas armed forces typically accept recruits but once a year, yet given your potential, and your unusual circumstances, Théoden King deigned to make an exception. There are a great many barriers you must surpass ere you join the current recruits, however – foremost of which is your inability to comprehend the Eorlingas language; our training is conducted in Eorling, for it benefits us to speak in a language our enemies cannot understand.
"You also have no knowledge of weaponry or tactics, and as this year's recruits have already progressed a great deal through their training cycle, their skills will be far beyond yours. Until you are able to overcome these obstacles and are judged as fit to join the main recruit forces, your training has been tasked to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," said Truva, careful not to lapse in her manner of respect.
"Very well, then. First, I would like to complete a trial of your basic physical aptitude. This will consist of tests of your muscular strength and running abilities."
"I understand, my lord," Truva.
"Let us begin with the latter. Follow my lead," he said and took off at a slow jog, lapping around the circumference of the arena several times. Truva was incredibly thankful for the comfortable clothes Héodis had lent her that morning, and even more thankful for the long journey out of the north that she had endured, for it was in those days that running had become far easier to her. Even when Éomer increased his speed, departing from the training ground and guiding her this way and that along the paths of the city, she did not falter.
After some time, however, the pace began to wear on her, and it grew more difficult for Truva to lift her legs, more painful to draw air into her lungs. When they had woven throughout all of Edoras, Éomer led her through the gates and circled about the entirety of the outer walls before proceeding along a large river that cut east-west across the land. Truva's throat grew raw and nothing save dry rasps came when she attempted to clear it, yet she was determined not to disappoint Éomer; no matter how far he went, no matter how fast, she vowed to keep pace.
The Marshal then began to hurtle along the banks of the river, his pace seeming to increase with every stride until he was veritably sprinting. Truva struggled to keep up and gradually fell behind, the distance between them widening with each passing second, and Éomer was several lengths ahead when he finally came to a halt abreast of a scraggly oak tree. Truva pursued at the fastest speed she was capable of, highly distraught; for though Éomer said nothing when she pulled even, Truva could sense his disappointment in her. It was eclipsed only by her own disappointment in herself.
He then led her in a series of stretches before slowly jogging back toward the city, demonstrating to her how to loosen her body as they went. Some movements were ones the Riders had shown Truva on their journey south, others were new to her; though stretching was something the Hidlanders knew nothing of, the feeling of release it gave her muscles made her wish she could show it to those who still remained behind.
"Do you know how to swim?" Éomer asked suddenly, nodding in the direction of the river, which was particularly deep at that point. Truva froze, too terrified to move. Dipping her toes into the first river she had come across as the Eorlingas travelled south from the Hidlands was as close as she had ever gotten to swimming.
"I suppose that means no," Éomer said emotionlessly. "Now, let us begin some simple strength exercises. Here is as good as the training grounds."
Right beside the river, within shouting distance of the walls of Edoras, Éomer led Truva in a series of movements she was entirely unfamiliar with. All started out easy enough, yet as they increased in number and difficulty, her muscles started to burn and give out one by one. Éomer remained impassive as he concluded the exercises, and merely transitioned to showing her a new series of stretches.
Truva felt unease take root in her heart. This incarnation of Éomer was far different from the kindly Rider she had come to know. His expression gave her no insight as to how well her assessment was proceeding, and she feared she was falling far short of his expectations. When he indicated they should return to the training yard, she followed after him glumly.
Upon their arrival, Théodred and Gríma could be spotted lounged beside the fence that ran along the edges of the yard, chatting cordially. Truva bowed low to them out of respect, though seeing Théodred in person only reinforced the notion that the title of Marshal did not suit him.
"Are you not supposed to be training recruits?" Éomer scolded Théodred lightly.
"We have finished for the day!" boasted Théodred. "And Théoden King suggested that Gríma might come and watch, in order to report how our new ward is faring on her first day."
Truva felt slightly uncomfortable at the idea of having an audience, though Éomer did not seem to take notice of her unease. "We were just about to begin the second portion of the assessment, so it shall be some time yet," he said. "You may watch for a while, but do not dally. We've business to attend to, and I am sure you do, as well."
"If you insist!" called Théodred.
"Good luck!" added Gríma.
Éomer turned from their audience and led Truva to the far corner of the training ground, where beneath the roof of a small shed were arrayed all manner of apparatus. He took hold of several – strange contraptions of metal and wood, bars and balls and chains and hoops. He then bade Truva follow as he demonstrated how to use them, pushing and pulling and lifting the objects about the yard. Each time the exercise proved too simple for Truva, he found a way to complicate it, or increase the weight until she was incapable of performing the task altogether.
It was not until Truva had failed at every single exercise that Éomer seemed content at last. As Truva futilely threw her weight against a boulder – unable to move it any further, for her body had grown so exhausted that so much as walking was a challenge – Éomer held a hand aloft and said, "Stop. Now I will show you how to properly store these items, and then we shall proceed with hand-to-hand combat."
Thoroughly disheartened, Truva longed for nothing more than to throw herself upon the ground and surrender. She would have been savagely beaten had she done so in the Hidlands; even so, that seemed infinitely preferable to her current situation, in which such actions would result in Éomer's disapproval.
Once all the materials had been stored in accordance with his exacting direction, the Marshal and Truva took a position in the centre of the training ground. Théodred and Gríma still sat against the fence, sometimes conversing with each other, sometimes observing Truva's training, yet never giving any indication of leaving. Their presence still made Truva apprehensive, although Éomer continued to pay them little heed.
The Marshal shook his shoulders loose and took a fighting stance, arms up and body shifting rhythmically. Truva mirrored his actions. She began to feel somewhat more composed, for surely she could impress the inscrutable Éomer with skills she felt most confident in.
"Very well, then. Left hand," Éomer said, holding up his own left hand as a target for her. Truva struck it with ease. He continued to test her hand strikes before moving onto kicks, then wrestling, expressionless all the while.
Truva's confidence began to falter; the kicks he demonstrated to her were not those she was accustomed to, and she found herself being thrown again and again when she and Éomer grappled together. Perhaps all that she had learnt in the Hidlands – the skills she had gleaned from years of experience there – were still insufficient, unequal to even the most fundamental expectations of Eorlingas recruits.
Sweat dripped in rivulets off Éomer and Truva both by the time the Marshal called a halt to her assessment, when the sun had gradually begun to sink into the west over the massive, white-capped mountains. Éomer's evaluation had extended throughout the entire day, and Truva's body struggled to remain upright, much in the same way it had when she lost many of her most significant but exhausting fights.
Théodred and Gríma approached from where they had been observing, cheering wildly like silly spectators.
"Most excellent!" enthused Gríma. "I will relay to the King news that our new recruit's talents far exceed our greatest expectations!"
Truva started, for the advisor's comments did not align with the Marshal's impassive expression. She looked from one to the other in confusion.
"I should say!" added Théodred. "It shall be the blink of an eye before she outpaces the other recruits; you had best not train her too sedulously, Éomer! She shall put us Eorlingas to shame."
"Yes, yes, now off you go!" said the Marshal, shooing them back toward Meduseld. As soon as the duo were out of sight, Éomer turned to Truva. She shied away internally, yet managed to stand square before him.
"Impressive for one who spent their formative years in a cage!" he said, his stony countenance suddenly cracking into a smile, thoroughly shocking Truva. She had thoroughly expected to be rebuked, and instead found herself praised.
"You must work on running long distances, and I shall have to teach you how to swim; though I suppose I ought to have known that these were skills you did not possess, especially as I myself observed you entering a large body of water for the first time. Yet there was no need to be so terrified – I would never risk my fighters' safety, or expect them to be capable of anything I have not personally trained them for."
Truva, not knowing how to react to this sudden turn in temperament, merely said, "Yes, my lord."
Éomer laughed. "I know how you must feel, but I must treat all recruits the same. I conduct the same assessment every year, in the same impartial fashion, showing no favouritism or criticism, so that the recruits might demonstrate their skills unimpinged. Please do not be upset."
"I am not upset, my lord!" said Truva. "I understand perfectly, my lord. No need to explain yourself, my lord."
"And there is no need to call me 'my lord' or any such affectation quite so often," he said, clearly amused. "I understand your desire to abide by a code of respect, but just once is truly sufficient!"
"Yes, my lord," Truva replied. With another chuckle, Éomer motioned for her to follow, and they began to walk together toward Héodis and Éomód's house.
"You performed well today, Truva. Gríma tends to be overenthusiastic, yet he was not entirely incorrect. You have great potential."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Yes, well, it might behove you to reserve your thanks until training has begun in earnest," he replied with a wink as they entered the house, where the delicious aroma of baking food reached them. Enlivened by the scent, Éomer roared, "What smells so good?"
"Vegetable pie!" Héodis called back. Éofa and Éomód were there already, helping set the table as Fulmod played on a blanket spread upon the floor.
"We have decided it would be best to reduce the amount of meat we consume in this household until Truva has fully adjusted to the Eorlingas diet," explained Éomód.
"Oh dear, but our ferocious recruit needs meat to gain strength!" Éomer complained.
"You speak not out of concern for the recruit, but from your own greed for meat!" accused Héodis.
"I do believe I must admit my guilt at this charge!" laughed Éomer as he took a seat at the table, encouraging Truva to do the same. "Come, rest. You have had a trying day," he said, and soon the whole party was seated around the table, exchanging food and tales.
"So what is our Truva to expect on the morrow?" asked Éomód during a lull in the conversation.
"Tomorrow we start with weapons," replied Éomer. "At first a staff, and then we shall see how she fares. If she has as much competency in weaponry as she has demonstrated in other skills thus far, we shall promptly move to spear, then sword, and bow."
"Ah, my memories are returning," said Éomód. "It has been so long since Éofa underwent training – complaining all the while! – that I can hardly recall the process."
"You might recall better if you had ever cared in the first place!" retorted Éofa.
"That is not an unfair accusation," laughed Éomód. "I only ever did concern myself with your horses!"
The rest of the evening passed in similar joviality, and soon the next day saw Truva's return to the training yard. All expectations as to her competency, however, vanished immediately. From the very first instant, Truva exhibited absolutely no natural proficiency with the staff, and regardless of how dispassionate he strove to appear, the mounting frustration that emanated from Éomer was palpable as he drilled her repeatedly on the simplest of techniques.
So much as being shown the proper grip for the staff rendered Truva uncoordinated and off balance; the weapon felt unnatural in her hands, and her body moved clumsily through the series of motions Éomer demonstrated. Truva's hands were always too high or too low, her distance too near or too far, her staff at an incorrect angle, and her feet tripping over themselves as they stepped in unfamiliar patterns.
Truva had not struggled so greatly even as a child in the Hidlands, for when she first underwent training there were no solidified patterns to override. Even so, she had by no means been a naturally talented fighter; and now her inherent deficiencies were exacerbated by the fact that, in learning new skills, she was forced to ignore years of training – habits so deeply ingrained they had become intuition.
When Éomer squared off with her to work through the stances together, so that she might better understand the reasoning behind the finer details, Truva's incompetence grew even more pronounced. Each repetition brought a new failure, which often resulted in painful consequences, and Truva quickly lost count of the number of times her knuckles were rapped by Éomer's staff when her positioning was inexact. Though he was gentle, her hands swiftly grew sore, especially when compounded with the blisters that were beginning to form on her palms.
After Truva sustained a rather shocking strike to the head, having gotten lost in the patterns and thus failed to defend herself in time, Éomer lowered his staff and heaved a sigh. The sun had long ago sunk below the horizon, and they struggled to see as they laboured in the deepening purple dusk.
"I prefer to conclude training upon at least one successful completion of the forms," said the Marshal resignedly, "Yet I suspect if we delay until then, we shall be here all through the night, and quite possibly the next day, and perhaps even some time after that."
Truva hung her head. "I have disappointed you."
Éomer took the staff from her hands and drew her away from the training ground, in the direction of Meduseld. "On the contrary, it would do no good to the Eorlingas pride if you proved superior in weaponry in addition to close quarters combat. Each man has his own deficiencies, and while some are more easily overcome than others, we shall see what can be done with yours. You might ride a horse properly and draw a bow with confidence yet!"
As he spoke these words, Éomer shoved aside the doors to a hall that sat between the Marshals' barracks and the stables, facing Meduseld. "The armoury," he said by way of explanation. He lit a lamp that hung upon a ceiling beam, and it threw light across the vast display of wares arrayed there. Truva looked with astonishment upon the stacks of breastplates gleaming in the feeble light, the piles of chainmail, the staves and helmets and knives and every other accessory to war imaginable.
"Training equipment is stored to the left," said Éomer, indicating lockers of wooden weapons and all manner of padding. He handed the staves to Truva, and she placed them with the others, and they reemerged into the night. They did not speak until they bade each other goodnight, when Éomer turned toward the Marshals' barracks and Truva continued on alone to the home of Éomód and Héodis, immersed in gloomy thought.
A similar pattern continued for several weeks. Truva would rise early, train from sunrise to sundown with Éomer, and conclude each day feeling no more accomplished than she had in the morning. Her days were awash with frustration and swollen, split knuckles and bruised foreheads; she lost count of how often she forgot the steps Eomer had taught her, or how often he effortlessly struck the weapon from her hands. It was clear to all that there would be no moving on from the staff any time soon.
One night when she went to bed feeling particularly defeated, Truva was transported back to the Hidlands, back to the first time she ever won a fight after so many losses, only to be followed by yet another string of failures. A body can grow accustomed to unceasing disappointment, she thought, yet it was far, far worse to grasp at a faint trace of hope, only for it to be extinguished all too soon.
Despite Truva's best attempts to muffle her tears, Héodis heard her crying as she rose to get a glass of water in the middle of the night. She knocked softly on Truva's door, slipping in when sudden stillness was the only response. She took a seat at the edge of Truva's bed.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked. When Truva did not answer, she continued, "Does your home here not suit you?"
"It could never be that!" Truva exclaimed, sitting up suddenly.
"Then what?" Héodis pried gently.
"I am so afraid I shall disappoint everyone, including myself," she sobbed quietly. She was ashamed of the weakness and tears she could not contain, yet despite her desire to appear strong, the thought of all those who had supported her suddenly turning their backs terrified her. She thought of Héodis and Éomód, who have been so kind, as well as Éomer and Éofa, who were the first to take her in. And of course the King! Thinking of their discontent in her redoubled her misery.
Héodis wrapped Truva tightly in her arms. "Oh, Truva, I cannot imagine how much you must have suffered in the past, or how hard it must have been to leave all you knew behind, regardless of how much you despised it. You are incredibly brave, and powerful in ways I do not think you know. I hope one day you will be able to see yourself as I do – as we all do."
She tucked Truva back in and lay down upon the bedspread beside her, to serve as a protective presence throughout the night; and while she strove to stay alert until Truva slept, quiet snores soon emanated from her lips as Truva continued to shift restlessly.
Soothed by the sound of Héodis' breathing, Truva eventually slipped into a fretful slumber. A dream visited her, though they were uncommon to her. The details were so lifelike that at first Truva struggled to determine whether she was waking or sleeping, until the fog that blurred the edges of the dream into obscurity convinced her it was the latter.
At first, all she could see was the swath of grassy fields that lay beyond the gates of Edoras, and all that was not illuminated by the moon fell beyond her vision. A pleasant, warm breeze swept across the plains, gently rustling the stems of switchgrass and bluestem and lifting their earthy scent into the air. Truva could feel it tumbling through her hair, and yet she simultaneously did not exist in that space at all.
Softly across the distance came the sound of hooves approaching. Truva turned to see a most magnificent white stallion approaching from some distance away, so majestic in bearing that lesser Kings would surely be ashamed to ride it. The horse slowed to a trot and snorted, signalling a sense of approval.
Truva then felt a compulsion to turn round once more, and she realised the horse was not approaching her but instead a figure swathed in grey, clutching a staff and bent ever so slightly that his face lay in the shadow of his enormous, wide-brimmed hat. The man held out his hand as the stallion approached, and the horse extended his nose to the wrinkled palm, and they greeted each other in a mutual, unspoken language. Quite suddenly, the figure mounted and the pair spun about, disappearing into the black, swirling mist.
Truva awoke in an instant, and could have sworn she heard the beat of hooves upon the earth before the world melted back into the silence that reigned in the darkest hours of night.