Author's recommended listening: Elgar, Serenade for Strings
CHAPTER V: FIRST LESSONS
When Truva awoke the next morning, Héodis was already about, making breakfast in the kitchen with Fulmod, who had surprisingly arisen without his usual temper tantrum. "How are you feeling this morning?" she asked as Truva entered the kitchen.
"Improved," Truva said, short in word but not in heart. She still felt quite unsettled by the disastrous start to her training regimen, as well as her inscrutable dream; even so, she was overcome by renewed determination as she made her way to the training yard. It was undeniable that her skills would never rival the legendary warriors that had passed through the halls of the Eorlingas, little though she knew of them, yet neither could she resign herself to surrender. There was nothing else to do save commit herself entirely to training, regardless of how slow her progress might be or how disillusioned she caused those who watched over her to feel. Truva would think only of becoming a warrior they could be proud of in the future.
A full day of drilling the same staff forms she had previously learned tested Truva's new resolve greatly; nor did the training prove any more successful, and contrarily often felt worse. The following day showed little improvement, as did the next, and the next. Overwhelmed by an acute sense of inadequacy, it was the memory of the Hidlands, and the tiny victories that had come after incessant, crushing defeat that motivated Truva's perseverance – for if she could endure there, she could certainly endure in the Riddermark.
After the conclusion of yet another disheartening session, Truva sat slumped on the ground by the fence of the training yard, her back propped up against a post. Her padding and gear lay scattered about her where she had discarded it, lacking the strength to organise it neatly as she attempted to mentally and physically recover from Éomer's unrelenting onslaught. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Théodred emerge from Meduseld, and watched his lanky figure approach from a distance until he stood directly before her.
"My goodness, it looks as though you have had a rough time of it today!" he said cheerfully. Truva did not reply. She did not have the energy to. Théodred did not seem to mind her reticence as he collected her staff and padding, saying only, "The King requests your presence."
Truva rose wearily to her feet and held out her arms to accept her gear, which she knew to be sweaty and reeking, yet Théodred refused to return it, merely walking off in the direction of Meduseld as Truva followed slowly after.
When they entered the dim evening interior of Meduseld, Théoden King sat not upon his throne, but instead beside one of the long dining tables, entirely preoccupied with a wolfhound who was begging for his ears to be rubbed. So absorbed was he in this crucial task that the King failed to look up even as the two approached close.
"Take a seat, take a seat!" he said casually, still indulging the creature. "I do believe we Eorlingas would have been known for our hounds were we not so renowned for our horses."
Truva remained standing as Théodred sat upon a bench directly behind his father, promptly placing Truva's padding on the table and stealing the wolfhound's attention away from the King.
"Why is it that you wished to see me?" asked Truva.
"Ah, yes," said the King, turning at last to the pair. "I have done a great deal of thinking regarding your circumstances lately. You see, children in the Mark are brought up freely and with exposure to a wide variety of experiences, so that they might discover which activities and occupations are best suited to their individual proclivities. It is through these endeavours that they gain a vast breadth of insight and knowledge, thus building a more robust society – yet it is my understanding that you have been deprived of such opportunities in the past."
"That is not an inaccurate assumption," said Truva.
"As my ward, I see fit to make amends for that which you have been denied. Already you have begun your training under Éomer, yet I would not stop there; I have spoken with my advisor, Gríma, and he has agreed to instruct you in the social arts: history, geography, politics, writing. It would please me greatly if Théodred would assist him, if for no greater purpose than to refresh his own knowledge." The King gave his son a meaningful glance at these words, though Théodred feigned complete absorption in loving his hound.
Théoden King continued, "Upon request, Éomód said he would be delighted to expound upon your knowledge of horses, as well, and upon hearing said request made, Héodis demanded that she be included," he chuckled quietly. "She will work with my head chef to ensure you have the ability to prepare food in a proper kitchen, not just the field.
"Finally, and perhaps most significantly: our language. Many of our people speak the Common Tongue – especially our soldiers – for long have we been allies to our neighbouring Gondor, where my father spent much of his life. To ease your time here, however, I believe it would be best were you to learn the language of the Mark: Eorling. Quite frankly, even to those who do speak the Common Tongue with any degree of fluency, our language is far preferable. This task I have left to my sister-daughter, Éowyn. What say you?" he asked.
A moment lapsed during which Truva, stunned by the King's generosity, struggled to find her voice. At last she stuttered, "It would be an honour, yet would it not be an inconvenience to those tasked with my education?"
"I think you will find that your presence here is more blessing than burden to us, and it is no more than what we would do for any new addition to our number," the King reassured her tenderly.
"If that be the case, I thank you and all who would teach me for their unparalleled kindness."
The King laughed loudly at her words. "I do not believe I have ever met any other so polite as you! Nevertheless, you must be tired. I see you have already been through your training this day," he said, turning an eye to the equipment that lay upon the table. "Go now and rest; you shall be sent for when your lessons are to begin."
"Thank you, thank you, your highness," said Truva, bowing deeply. Théodred stood then as well, snatching the gear before Truva could pick it up and once more refusing to relinquish it to her, and together they departed Meduseld.
"You know," said Théodred contemplatively as he fiddled with the straps of Truva's shin guards. "History and such things are not my forte."
"You need not worry," laughed Truva, "I do not have great expectations, most of all for myself."
"Ah, that is not my meaning," he replied. "It is simply that in speaking with Éowyn, she expressed to me her weakness in Eorling, having grown up in the King's household and speaking none save the Common Tongue. She agreed to assist only because she is fond of you, and desired to please the King." What Théodred failed to mention then to Truva was that the King had in actuality tasked his son with making said request; yet in coveting the job for himself, Théodred had instead inquired as to whether Éowyn might be willing to undertake a different responsibility.
"Is that so?" said Truva, feeling vindicated in her perception that the King's requests had been burdensome to those he had placed them upon.
"She truly does wish to help!" Théodred reassured her. "The two of us merely concluded it would best if Éowyn were to supplement your lessons with Gríma on writing in the Common Tongue, and I took charge of your Eorling education. History in and of itself is quite a task for Gríma; I would be easing his responsibilities, and I happen to be far more proficient in Eorling than I will ever be in history!"
"Do you not suppose it will require too much effort from you, to assist both in Eorling as well as history, in addition to your other duties?" asked Truva.
"Gríma is more than adept enough to take full control of your history lessons on his own; my input will be limited. I will merely be present, if only to please my father," he scowled comically, yet was quick to smile again. He glanced up then, and saw that they had arrived before Héodis and Éomód's home.
"I now leave you in good hands!" he said, waving to her as his figure faded into the darkness, and Truva entered the cosy kitchen with a renewed sense of contentment and anticipation.
Héodis alone greeted Truva with typical enthusiasm and a hearty dinner, for Éomód still remained at the stables. "I heard you are to begin lessons soon," she prompted as they sat at the table, Fulmod playing around in her lap. Truva gave the toddler a few funny faces and a tickle before turning to her meal.
"And I heard you insisted on being included in those lessons!" said Truva playfully.
"How could I not? I shall miss you desperately when you move out, which is sure to be soon. And I am the best household cook in Edoras, after all; it is only natural that I assist," she said with no trace of humility, though she needed it not, for her words were not incorrect.
"Say," Héodis continued thoughtfully, in a tone not entirely dissimilar from Théodred's a few moments earlier, "It is also my understanding that you are to learn of writing from Gríma and Éowyn."
"It never ceases to astound me how quickly you obtain information," laughed Truva. "I only just heard the news myself! And yet it is so; why do you ask?"
"Might I not also learn? I needn't attend the lessons themselves – lest I distract from your own focus – yet perhaps you might relay what you have learnt to me? I was afforded a great many opportunities as a child, yet I took so quickly to cooking that I did not pursue anything else for long. Very few Eorlingas choose to indulge in the written arts as it is, for they serve very little practical use in our daily lives, and they are disdained even by many of our greatest advisors; even to Gríma they were nothing more than a mere labour of passion.
"Yet I have heard that the few written records he has gathered detail Eorlingas history thoroughly, and it is therefore reasonable that you become capable of exploring these annals on your own, not having been privy to stories through your upbringing in the way most Eorlingas have. As for me, I simply desire to learn something new, something that I might share with my son one day," said Héodis, giving Fulmod's hair an affectionate brush.
"I see," said Truva with a smile, contemplating her friend's proposal. "I suppose that repeating all that I have learned might prove an excellent way for me to retain the material!" she added, and thus the enthusiastic spirit for education was transmitted to yet another student, and they vowed to always aid one another in their studies.
It was hard upon this conversation, before Truva so much as began the lessons themselves, that the King's Rider departed for the East Mark and his vacated accommodations became available to Truva. She still had no possessions of her own, and so preparing to leave her temporary home with Éomód and Héodis took but a moment; yet though they would be separated by no more than a few minutes' walk, the minimal work was slowed by the fact that all parties felt terribly disheartened at the idea of parting.
The evening after the Rider's withdrawal, Éomer bade Truva to return to the training ground once she had stowed her gear in the armoury. He then guided her through the array of identical barracks toward a tiny house near the northern end of the field, two rows back. "Our new recruits typically share quarters," he said as they stood before the entrance of the residence. "Yet as you are currently the only female amongst our ranks, a few concessions had to be made."
The straw roof of the house was so steep it appeared to be an inverted V, the ends nearly brushing the ground. When Éomer opened the door, Truva observed a single room beyond, with a tiny bed in the far left corner, at the foot of which stood a modest trunk. There was a stove also, and tucked among the shelves beside it was a fine array of produce and cookery. On the wall opposite the door was a window, and though the view through the glass was primarily obscured by the roof of the building in the rear, from a certain angle the grasslands beyond the city walls could be glimpsed. All in all, Truva found it difficult to contain her enthusiasm for her new abode.
There was a far greater surprise waiting for her when she entered, however. Folded upon the trunk was the burgundy dress Héodis had lent her to wear at the banquet, in addition to numerous training uniforms. A particularly fine set of silver armour was set beside the trunk, as well, entirely unadorned yet as practical as the uniforms.
Upon a low table in the middle of the room lay an elegantly folded paper. When Truva opened it, she saw what she could only assume to be the clean, flourishing script of the King. Still ignorant of the written language, Truva could not fathom what was written upon the page; she therefore folded the paper and stowed it safely beneath the burgundy dress, determined to decipher it later when she became more knowledgeable.
"By way of the King," said Éomer, motioning to the letter and supplies, amused to see Truva in such a state of awe. "Save, of course, the dress; you have Héodis to thank for that."
He hesitated a moment then, reaching out to brush his fingertips across the burgundy fabric. "And I— I would like to apologise for what I said at the banquet, as I do believe it was upsetting. You looked truly resplendent in this gown, with your hair unbraided. I was merely so shocked at the transformation that the words escaped my mouth unheeded."
"Your apology is unnecessary; I know you meant no ill," said Truva. An uncomfortable silence fell between them then, and Éomer shifted in place, sweeping his foot across the well-worn wooden boards of the floor in the manner that many grapplers were wont to do. "Well, I've recruits to attend to," he said by way of explanation before turning and fleeing out the door.
Feeling flustered, Truva gazed after him for some time, suddenly swept up in the realisation she was the most alone she had ever been. A deep quiet fell about her, and while the stillness was unnerving, it was simultaneously soothing. "I could easily grow accustomed to this," Truva muttered to herself as she moved about the room, examining every nook and cranny before preparing a simple meal for her dinner, out of habit producing far too much for any single person to eat in one sitting.
Unforgivably early the next morning, Théodred had hardly knocked at the door of the tiny house before he bounded inside with a large gathering of simbelmynë in hand. "Ah, I see you are settling in already!" He said cheerfully, upon finding Truva at the table for breakfast.
"What is your purpose here, when the sun has scarcely risen?" Truva asked as she righted the chair she knocked over, having bolted to her feet when startled by Théodred's unexpected appearance. Her mind reeled from sudden shock and lack of sleep, for every unpredictable creak and shadow in her new house had prevented her from getting a good night's rest, and she had surrendered to her sleeplessness and risen in the wee hours of the morning, before the sky had even grown light.
"These are for you!" Théodred declared, handing Truva the alabaster flowers. "Simbelmynë is not the typical nosegay one profers when an acquaintance moves into a new household, yet they suited you so well at the banquet that I could not possibly consider offering any other blossom."
He extricated a flagon from Truva's cupboards and filled it with water as he spoke, then plucked the flowers from her bewildered hands and arranged them with aplomb. He then set the peculiar vase upon the table, where Truva sat observing his actions wordlessly.
"Well, I do believe it is time for your first history lesson!" a particularly chipper Théodred declared, promptly marching Truva from her new accommodations and toward Meduseld without allowing her to so much as finish her breakfast.
Théoden King was already present in the hall, engaged in discussion with several of his advisors, and Truva bowed deeply before them as she approached. "My liege," she said to the King, with particular emphasis on the first word. It was with no small amount of joy that she finally felt a sense of belonging among the Eorlingas.
"My dear Truva, welcome. Do you find your accommodations to your liking?" asked the King, a warm smile upon his face.
"Not even in my dreams had I ever believed I might one day live so comfortably," she replied. "And I thank you for your gifts; it is with pride that I shall wear such well-crafted uniforms in training."
"Ah, I do wish I could boast of my generosity, yet it is nothing more than what we provide for all Eorlingas recruits," said the King.
"Then you are truly generous to your subjects."
"I should like to think so," said the King, and his eyes twinkled especially then. "Now, I shall not keep you longer – off to your studies!" And as the King turned back to the waiting advisors, Théodred took Truva's elbow and led her toward an alcove lit by the rising sun.
"And yet," he whispered as they walked, "As unadorned as it is, I have yet to see any recruit receive such a fine suit of armour in all my time in the forces!"
Seated upon a bench in the alcove was Gríma, thoughtfully stroking a brindle greyhound, who appeared to be quite enjoying the affection. The attention of the King's advisor was wholly absorbed by the library of books and papers strewn haphazardly about him, though he looked up in anticipation when Truva and Théodred drew near.
"Come, come!" he said, motioning to a place on the bench beside him. Théodred promptly took this seat, though Gríma jokingly shoved him away with his foot. "Not you, oaf! I was speaking to Truva! Do you expect our new pupil to sit across from me and read a map upside down?"
"On the contrary, I thought she would sit across from us and that you might read the map upside down!" said Théodred, feigning hurt with a comical pout but nevertheless taking a seat opposite. Truva sat at Gríma's side and took over his duty of petting the greyhound.
"Now," Gríma began to explain as he drew said map toward himself, shooting Théodred a lecturing look as he extricated the paper from the prince's inquisitive hands, "The history of the Mark alone is long and complex, yet it is also entangled with many other lands with which I expect you have almost no familiarity. I will begin by explaining the distribution of Middle Earth and the various peoples that dwell in it, before proceeding to focus on the interactions and conflicts that occurred between them."
"That sounds reasonable," Truva concurred as she pored over the map, covered as it was in strange marks she did not understand. The sharp points must be mountains, she surmised, surrounded by forests of tiny circular trees; the long, jarred lines that traversed vast blank spaces appeared to be rivers leading to the sea, whereas the straighter lines could possibly be roads, like the one the Riders had followed upon her initial approach to Edoras. Truva relayed her guesses to Gríma.
"Precisely!" he praised, and though it was with sudden realisation he saw his pupil lacked even the most basic fundamentals of education, he noted that her ability to comprehend was not to be underestimated. "Can you read what is written here?" He pointed to indecipherable symbols near the middle of the map.
"Even the most educated person in the Hidden Lands does not read or write," said Truva, scarcely glancing at the letters.
"Not dissimilarly, Eorlingas rely almost exclusively on verbal communication to convey information, and on oral tradition to pass down stories," said Gríma. "And while a great amount of our conjunctive history with Gondor has been recorded in their extensive annals, the responsibility of reading that literature, as well as chronicling our own accounts, falls entirely upon those advisors of the Mark who demonstrate even the slightest modicum of interest in such things."
"And you are one of those advisors, as I have come to understand," said Truva, with a glance toward Gríma.
"I, too, know how to read!" Théodred interjected, rather petulantly.
"That is because you took an inexplicable interest in the written language as a boy, and demanded that I teach you!" laughed Gríma. "Though I have yet to see you put such knowledge to any use."
"I mention it merely so that I might prove to be yet one more resource to our inquisitive recruit," said Théodred with a shrug.
"I greatly appreciate any and all assistance you offer," said Truva to Théodred, and he rapped his knuckles upon the table with enthusiasm as Gríma scoffed.
"See," beamed Théodred, "She appreciates my assistance!"
"Let us regain our focus," said Gríma with a mockingly exasperated sigh before turning back to the map. "The area I indicated earlier, here, is the Riddermark. Edoras is here, at the base of the White Mountains and the head of the river Snowbourn."
"That must have been the river Éomer led me along during my training assessment," Truva hazarded.
"That is correct. To the south—"
"Show her the Hidden Lands!" Théodred interrupted suddenly, unapologetic. It was with genuine exasperation that Gríma sighed this time, though he was forced to admit that Théodred's suggestion was not wholly unreasonable. He scanned the map, searching for that which could not be found.
"The Hidlands, as they say, are not demarcated on this map, for they were entirely unknown at the time of its making and continue to remain mysterious to this day. Taking into account reports made by Éomer and his men upon their return, I suspect the Hidlands are located somewhere around this area, far in the north, toward the Ettenmoors among the Misty Mountains – perhaps just south of Mitheithel and the Angmar Mountains."
This statement caused both Théodred and Gríma to fall silent and introspective as they gazed at the location Gríma indicated.
"What does that mean?" asked Truva, disturbing their ruminations.
"The realm of Angmar has long been marked by brutal wars and malevolent rulers," Gríma mused. "As perturbing as it is to say, enslaved fighters are likely one of the least barbaric affronts to Mankind in that region," he mused.
There was another lull in the conversation before Gríma continued with his initial narration. "As I was saying, to the south of our land lies Gondor, the great kingdom of Men, and our allies. Its capital is Minas Tirith, here, known to us as Mundburg and guarded by Denethor II who took Stewardship in the year 2984…"
As he rattled off information, Truva strove to commit as much of it as possible to memory, though attempting to find connections within the endless stream of unfamiliar names and dates was like searching for a path in a blizzard whiteout. Truva was thankful when the oration came to an abrupt halt.
She glanced up, expecting to see Gríma assessing whether or not she still listened, but instead found his attention elsewhere. Truva followed his line of sight, noting that Éowyn had presently entered the Hall and was making her way directly toward the table where they sat studying.
"Good morn! Devoting ourselves to our edification, I see," she laughed, observing Théodred's glazed eyes staring blankly beyond the window, daydreaming.
"It is good fortune to have a dedicated pupil, for once," said Gríma with a nod in the direction of Truva, though his gaze was suddenly anywhere save upon Éowyn, and he shuffled maps pointlessly about the table.
"You are in luck," said Éowyn to Truva. "Aside from the King, Gríma is the most knowledgeable historian among us, and I suspect he is more meticulous even than a great many of Gondor's record keepers!"
Truva watched curiously as Gríma blushed and mumbled denials at Éowyn's words.
"Ah, but I do not envy your task, Truva, for though we shall soon be writing together, books bore me rather! I would far prefer to be outside, with the sun above me and my horse's hooves flying below," she quipped, then bade the trio good luck and goodbye before strolling over to greet her uncle and his advisors.
Gríma struggled to regain his focus then, and his hands trembled slightly as he pointed out a different region on the map. "The area— the area of Dunland… has a history entangled with our own…" he stammered, though it was clear to Truva that he had lost all concentration, and was failing quite spectacularly in his attempts to be subtle as he observed Éowyn from across the hall.
When the King's niece moved toward the exit, Gríma leapt up abruptly, startling Truva. He began to fold the map, though in his distracted state it took several tries, saying, "I believe— believe that is more than enough for one day. Here, take this and study it thoroughly at home. I will drill you on the location of various lands during our next lesson." Gríma handed Truva the improperly folded map before collecting his books into his arms, dropping more than he picked up in his rush. He then dashed off after Éowyn, leaving behind quite a few of his materials and a thoroughly befuddled Truva.
"So, what do you think?" Truva turned her gaze from the retreating figure of Gríma to see Théodred regarding her intently, as though he had been paying rapt attention throughout the lesson rather than lost in his own thoughts. He did not take his eyes from her, even when she did not answer his question immediately.
"History is far more complicated than I expected," Truva replied at last, looking down at the map in her hands, "Though I did not ever suppose it to be easy."
"Never mind history!" exclaimed Théodred dismissively. "I was referring to Gríma and Éowyn."
"I do not believe I understand," said Truva, her eyes turning once more to Théodred's animated expression.
Théodred raised his eyebrows and paused, waiting for recognition to sink in. When the quizzical look on Truva's face did not falter, he burst out, "Love!"
"Love?" said Truva.
"Well, perhaps love is an overstatement," Théodred acknowledged, "Yet I am certain there is some notion of interest between the two!"
"I haven't much experience with such emotions," Truva replied. Théodred peered at her inquisitively, and though she refused to meet his eyes, Théodred's ingenuous nature somehow urged her to speak further, and she did not resent his curiosity. "Love is a luxury not afforded to those of the Hidlands. I believe the free villagers are too mean to truly love."
"And what of the slaves, if you do not mind my asking?" His voice was reserved, inviting rather than demanding Truva to speak, and she was overcome then by an unfamiliar loquacity.
"On the very rare occasion, the most successful of fighters are allowed to cohabitate, in the owners' hopes that they might produce an offspring with the potential of becoming a superior fighter. These lodgings are somewhat superior to the Fighters' Quarters, therefore some fighters even feign attraction, so that they might live in better conditions." Truva observed her fingernails far more closely than necessary as she said these words. "Unless both fighters belong to the same owner, however, such arrangements typically result in contention over possession of said offspring, so it is not common."
"…And yourself?" asked Théodred, his voice falling so low it was a veritable whisper.
"I was never afforded the opportunity, even if I had wished to take it. I was so young when my owner isolated me from the Fighters' Quarters – at first, for fear I would lose my focus, then later that I should gain it."
"How abhorrent!" the prince exclaimed, halfway disbelieving in the cruelty of Man.
"Well!" Truva said cheerfully, seeking to lighten the mood with a smile, "I suppose it worked out in the end. I did not lose focus, nor did I have any concern for leaving behind loved ones in the process of freeing myself." Théodred was rightfully unconvinced by her false enthusiasm, though any response he might have made was interrupted by loud arguing, for the King and his advisors appeared to vehemently disagree upon some issue.
Seeing Théodred and Truva disturbed by the advisors' argument, King Théoden gestured for the duo to join them. The group was clustered about a curious object set upon the table, and all peered at it inquisitively: a gleaming black orb, approximately the size of a large man's two fists put together. When Truva looked closer, she could see a faint, stirring glow within.
"Do you know what this is?" asked the King.
"A palantír!" gasped Théodred.
"Precisely! A Seeing Stone, of which few remain in Middle Earth. We believe it to be the Stone of Annúminas of Arnor, lost in the snowy realms of the north long ago. We heard rumours of its resurfacing near the Angmar Mountains, and in a bout of good fortune, our Riders that were sent to obtain it returned with not one, but two treasures," said Théoden King, with a surreptitious wink at Truva.
"What is its purpose?" she asked, in part to hide her pleasure at being referred to so kindly by the King, and in part to being genuinely intrigued by the Stone's captivating sleekness.
"A palantír allows the holder to see or communicate from afar. Our hope had been to observe the strife that plagues our borders, and thus move more swiftly to counteract the damage that is being done there," explained the King.
"Unfortunately," continued one of his advisors, "We cannot see a thing – the palantír is perfectly impenetrable to us."
"As the Stone was discovered in your region, it was our hope that you might have greater luck in unlocking its secrets than we," said the King to Truva. She eyed the Stone bemusedly, unsure of how a slave might be met with more success than a King. Seeing the doubt in her face, he persuaded, "Any attempt is worthwhile, however unlikely, as we have tried every other recourse. It cannot hurt you, and can only serve to benefit us."
Truva saw the logic in his argument, so she approached the glassy orb and looked deep into its depths. The light within was reminiscent of a golden fish drifting languidly in a black pool.
"Very good," said Théoden King. "Now stand here and place your hands thus, around the globe. Do not look into the palantír; try instead to look past it, to what lies beyond."
Truva strove to follow the King's instructions, for she longed to please him, yet she knew her efforts would be fruitless. All she could perceive was a darkness that gradually overtook her sight, obscuring her vision of the hall and its occupants. She neither saw nor felt anything else, not even when she attempted to look beyond, in the way the King had described.
She continued to peer through the darkness halfheartedly when her eyes were suddenly blinded by a flash of pure white light. A jolt of energy coursed through her as it had the time lightning struck her cage during a storm back in the Hidlands. She involuntarily leapt back from the palantír as her whole body shook.
"What? What is it?" cried the King. The entire gathering leaned forward in anticipation.
"Nothing, just darkness and light," said Truva, still shaking her stinging hands. The tingling sensation in her extremities began to transform into a dull feeling of utter exhaustion that seeped throughout her entire body, reaching to her very core; she was overcome by the irresistible urge to close her eyes and sleep in the very spot where she stood before Théoden King.
"Ah, well. That is more than any of us saw," said the King. "Thank you for your assistance."
"I am sorry I could not be of more use," said Truva, the tiredness audible in her voice.
"There is nothing to be done, and it is certainly not from lack of trying," the King reassured her as he patted her gently on the shoulder.
"Let us go find some sustenance," injected Théodred then. "It is well past noon and you have not eaten since breakfast."
"And I hardly ate breakfast in the first place," Truva muttered. As they exited the Hall, the pair could still faintly hear the King consulting his advisers.
"It is ultimately of no use to us. I think it will serve us better as the alternative."
"I agree. It is high time we send it to the Wizard as a peace offering. He is our last defence against the Dunlendings, and it would behove us to garner his support."
"We ought to send it with Gríma as an additional sign of our goodwill; he might consult with Saruman and bring about a mutually beneficial—"
Though Truva longed to hear more of the workings of the King and his council, an uninterested Théodred shut the vast doors of the Hall without a moment's hesitation.