Author's recommended listening: Dvořák, String Quartet No. 12 in F major
CHAPTER VI: THE PICNIC
Despite the King's determination, all thought of sending Gríma on any mission seemed to vanish as if borne off on a wind, for there were no further whispers of discussion and Gríma remained as ever in Edoras. In the meantime, Truva's lessons were held with increasing frequency and intensity, and she often felt inundated by the tidal wave of unfamiliar information at first, yet as she grew more familiar with the content of what she was being taught, she began to enjoy the rhythm and stability of her new life.
Truva found cooking with Héodis and the King's chef supremely enjoyable, for it involved her most favourite activity: eating. Aside from the most simplistic of dishes, however, she demonstrated even less aptitude for the art of cooking than she did handling weapons. When asked to compose a dish from what could be foraged outside, Truva's mind easily drew the disparate pieces together to create a presentable meal that – while lacking in complexity and aesthetics – was at least nutritious; yet confronted with an array of incomprehensible ingredients, given a recipe, and asked to recreate it, Truva was always at a loss. As for baking, well, that was in and of itself another disaster entirely, and after some time the King's chef conceded defeat, declaring he had taught Truva all she might learn, and that she possessed a "soldier's touch" for cooking.
Truva also looked forward to Éomód's farrier lessons in the stables and the rides that often accompanied them, having over time developed a certain fondness for the giant creatures that were so central to Eorlingas culture. Éomód showed her the smithy and the methodology of forging shoes, and allowed her to accompany him on home visits to care for individual families' horses. Through his tutelage, Truva was able to witness the tremendous diversity of horses throughout Edoras and the surrounding area, both Mearas and otherwise.
As for Gríma's lengthy lectures, Truva found it increasingly difficult to remain mindful, for oft her physical exhaustion after training caused her to grow listless or her thoughts to wander; yet when she reimagined the events Gríma narrated as stories and legends rather than history, they became fractionally easier to comprehend. Even so, it was Théodred's comical commentary that rendered the long hours in Meduseld bearable.
Most difficult of all, however, were the languages. Despite his lackadaisical personality, Théodred approached Truva's lessons in Eorling with surprising rigour, and it was not long ere he refused to speak with her in anything save his melodic native language.
The greatest trouble came when he concocted a wild campaign with the intention of not only improving Truva's Eorling capabilities, but also endearing her to the people of Edoras: he suggested one day that they parade about the city and interact with its people in their own native language. This proposition sent a wave of alarm through Truva, though she was forced to acknowledge that the intention behind it was well considered.
Her dread was in direct contrast with Théodred's joviality as they emerged from Meduseld and the prince led her in the direction of the market, Truva repeatedly muttering the most common Eorling greetings to herself all the while, absorbed entirely in her anxiety. Too soon, Théodred was waving to the greengrocer Dernrid, whom Truva had met her second day in Edoras.
"Halloo, my singular Dernrid!" he called in Eorling. "My, don't you look lovely today!"
"What is it you want, you young scamp?" Dernrid laughed in return. "Your flattery will get you nothing from me!"
"Not even the opportunity for my young friend here to practise her flourishing Eorling skills?" he replied impishly, motioning for Truva to come forward.
"Oh aye, I might be persuaded to consider such an offer! And if it isn't Truva! Lovely to see you, my dear; how have you been? I was just talking with Héodis the other day about your amusing adventures in the King's kitchen, and heard tell you burned flour – well, I never!"
Truva understood all that was being said, though her mind became unresponsive as she gawked at the greengrocer's kindly face; the greetings Truva had been reciting refused to materialise, and her mouth flapped open and closed like a fish caught upon a line. Panic began to swell within her heart, yet the more she frantically searched for the words, the faster they slipped through the nets of her mind. With a jolt, she realised they would never come.
Truva's eyes snapped to Théodred's face, and suddenly she could endure his anticipant gaze no longer; she turned and fled up the hill, bolting for the stables the moment she believed herself to be beyond view, for she knew from their conversation earlier that morning that Éomód would be away on farrier duty at Hornburg. The stables would be the last place anyone who assumed she still felt any discomfort toward the massive creatures would look for her.
After throwing the doors closed behind her, Truva dove into the stall of a horse named Bron, surprising even herself by bursting into tears. Crying was not a particular pastime of hers – indeed, it had not been since her initial lessons in weaponry with Éomer that Truva had wept, and yet her feeling of inadequacy then was not entirely incomparable.
The image of Dregant drifted into her vision then, his figure standing before her as she lay broken and splayed upon the ground. Truva could see the whip dripping with blood in his hand, a shudder running through her when she recalled the severity with which Dregant used to strike her for every word she misspoke. The sound of its lash cracked in her ears.
It was through his cruelty that Truva had come to master the Common Tongue, and she suspected that in being pushed unexpectedly to interact in the as yet unfamiliar Eorling, the panic she had once felt in the past again resurfaced and overwhelmed her. It was one thing to converse comfortably with Théodred during his lessons, but another entirely to fall under the judgement – whether real or imagined – of a veritable stranger.
Truva knew not how long she sat there, her tears renewing each time she believed she had calmed herself, when the sudden sound of the stable doors opening caused her to choke back her sobs. Even as she struggled to contain her breathing, hoping to be passed over unnoticed, Truva heard steps approaching the stall and Théodred's face appeared beyond. He gave Bron an affectionate pat as he slipped into the stall and sat wordlessly in the hay beside Truva.
He remained silent for quite some time before he turned to her at last and said, "It was terribly clever of you to hide here. I checked the training field, and your barracks, and Éomód and Héodis's home, and even Meduseld before coming here. I take it that you do not fear these creatures as you once did."
Truva did not respond.
"What was it that came over you?" he asked gently. "Though you have never been particularly voluble in either the Common Tongue or Eorling, you can carry a conversation well enough."
Truva stared straight ahead as she said, "I don't rightly understand it, myself." She hesitated another moment, cognizant of the fact that her behaviour must be mystifying to him, yet the only further words she could offer were, "I am truly sorry."
Théodred studied her thoughtfully before responding, for as certain as he was that there was a reason for Truva's reticence, he did not think it right to press her. "Perhaps it is best we continue more limited lessons for now, then we might expand your social circle when you grow more comfortable."
He stood and offered Truva his hand. "Come, you've training this afternoon with Éomer. Let us take a simple lunch, so that you might collect yourself before then."
Truva stared at his extended hand, for though she was accustomed to the physical contact inherent in training, the Prince's gesture was indeed the first offer of kindly touch shown to her since her arrival in Edoras – a gesture she herself could choose whether to accept or not. It was thus with a significance wholly lost on Théodred that she took his hand and rose to her feet, and though she let go immediately once standing, it was with markedly lighter heart that she walked with him to her barracks near the training field, silent all the while.
After the incident in the market, Truva continued her solitary lessons in Eorling with Théodred while also pivoting to studies of the written word, devoting the majority of her free time in the following months to her lessons with Éowyn and Gríma. Éowyn applied herself to the task of supplementing Gríma's teachings with incredible vigour; she would inquire as to what Gríma had taught Truva, then compel her pupil to practise that task, ever adding on so that poor Gríma found himself unceasingly adjusting his lessons upon discovering Éowyn had already covered his prepared materials.
Truva's extant proficiency in the Common Tongue, combined with Gríma's tutelage and Éowyn's relentless drilling, meant that she was soon able to scrawl full sentences and sentiments, as well as read the extensive annals Gríma placed before her, many of which had been borrowed from the libraries of Gondor.
True to her word, Truva relayed everything she learned from Gríma and Éowyn to Héodis, who perhaps picked it up even more rapidly than Truva.
"Though you are far more proficient in the Common Tongue than I, you have been unimaginably busy of late," replied Héodis when Truva commented so much one evening, as they sat ruminating on a list of new vocabulary after dinner. "I do nothing save run this house and study letters; you have your lessons to attend to, in addition to your training with Éomer."
"Caring for this house is a merciless task in and of itself, especially with little Fulmod," Truva reminded her.
"That is true," said Héodis, "Our house is modest, however, and Fulmod is a surprisingly well-behaved creature – it is no great task!"
Yet despite her friend's vocal humility, Truva returned home after one late night of field medicine instruction with Éofa only to discover a paper wedged between the door and its frame. Truva plucked the letter out and opened it as she entered the house that – over the course of nigh on a year, through the sweltering heat of summer and intolerable chill of winter – she had come to regard as a home. It was with great pleasure and sense of accomplishment that she was able to read the deliberate, block-like letters that could belong to no other than Héodis' purposeful hand:
Dear Truva,
Please join us for dinner tomorrow.
Yours,
Héodis
A simple message though it was, Truva knew that writing so much in the Common Tongue must have required a great amount of effort on Héodis part, as reading it had been on hers; it was therefore with glad heart that she made her way to Héodis' home after history lessons the following day, accompanied by Gríma.
Truva frequently visited to practise writing with Héodis, yet it was always with a renewed sense of comfort that she entered the cosy abode for leisurely purposes. Having arrived earlier, Éofa rose to greet both teacher and student, for Héodis was busy with dinner and Éomód was entertaining Fulmod. They all sat down together to converse, and the arrival of Éomer and Éowyn followed soon after. Théodred was last to join, his arms burdened by spectacularly aged wine.
"Happy one year Eorlingas anniversary, Truva!" he cried upon entering, to Truva's great confusion.
"I am sorry, I do not understand," she said, glancing about at all the others, who beamed back at her expectantly.
"It was precisely one year ago that you arrived in Edoras," said Éomer.
"We wished to surprise you with a small party!" exclaimed Héodis, though upon noticing tears well in Truva's eyes, she hastened to add, "Were we wrong?"
"No, no," said Truva, wiping the tears away. "I do not know why I cry, for my heart is full of naught but joy in this moment."
"Tears of joy," said Éofa, clasping Truva in his arms, for he had long ago forgotten when Truva had shied away from his touch on her very first day in the city; yet despite her discomfort, Truva was moved by the sentiments his embrace expressed, and did not protest as each Eorlingas took a moment to share affection for their companion.
When all tears had been dried, Héodis laid before them a scrumptious feast, and the conversation swelled again as they broke bread together. The warm, familial atmosphere caused Truva to regret somewhat having moved into her barracks, despite her newfound affection for spending time alone.
Théodred gave the revellers even more cause for celebration with a jovial idea: "It is spring, soon to be summer, is it not? Let us picnic!" This declaration met with rousing cheers, though Truva did not fully understand for what she was cheering.
"Picnic?" she inquired. "What is a picnic?"
Those gathered around the table froze and gazed in awe at Truva momentarily, for instances of her surprising naiveté had decreased so significantly over the past year that, on occasion, her foreignness slipped their minds entirely. Théodred stepped in quickly to alleviate her feeling of estrangement, for he had come to understand that a succinct and unaffected explanation was the least obtrusive way to remedy the situation.
"A picnic is when we go outdoors to play and feast; it is a respite from daily life."
Truva's eyes lit up. "That sounds wonderful!" she said, and the others smiled amongst each other at her sudden enthusiasm.
"Wherever shall we go?" asked Éofa.
"What of Harrowdale?" suggested Gríma. "Dunharrow ought to be refreshing this time of year, and we might take a dip in the Snowbourn, as well."
"It is near enough that we can be there and back again in enough time to avoid any great disturbance to my duties," added Éomer.
"What a splendid idea!" enthused Éowyn.
"It is settled, then!" said Théodred. "I shall send you all word when the preparations have been made!"
From that evening, it was far easier for Truva to endure training and focus on learning, for the existence of something specific to look forward to lent her great motivation. Even so, an eternity seemed to pass ere another paper found its way between Truva's door jamb.
Dearest Truva,
I hope this letter finds you well. It is with greatest pleasure that I invite you on a picnic this following Saturday after next. Be it your will, we shall relax within Harrowdale for two days, returning the Monday after our departure. Should these events seem agreeable to you, please send me your reply within the day.
Lovingly,
Théodred
After her initial happiness for having understood the letter in its entirety had abated, Truva fretted over how to respond to the unambiguously affectionate tone with which Théodred had written. It was thus with great deliberation that she composed a reply:
Dear Théodred,
Thank you for your kind letter. It would delight me no greater than to join you in your adventure. Please assume my participation.
Sincerely,
Truva
Even as Truva read the letter to herself it felt formulaic, and she could do nothing save trust Théodred to be sympathetic toward her continued discomfort with written correspondence. And so the few remaining days before the picnic passed, and on the very morning of their adventure Truva was awoken in the dark hours before dawn to the sound of a voice jovially calling her name from her front doorstep.
She opened the door and squinted blearily into the darkness, only to see Théodred standing on the threshold, bright-eyed despite the early hour. "Have you packed?" he asked, brushing past her into the tiny space beyond.
"What time is it?" Truva responded with her own question, rubbing her eyes.
"Time to go!" Théodred responded incorrigibly, pacing about her single room in search of anything that resembled luggage. Truva pulled a rucksack from beneath her bed, full of anything that could potentially be needed. Théodred relieved her of the rucksack without a word, slung it over his shoulders, and took off into the darkness with Truva in tow.
Their next stop was Éomer's quarters just across the training field. Éofa was there also, and the two were both wide awake and deep in conversation when Théodred and Truva arrived. Together, the four of them made their way toward the stables.
Truva was not yet officially paired with any horse of her own, though she felt particularly drawn to the creature named Bron, whose stall she had hidden in some time ago; he was reliable and steadfast, albeit prone to mischievous antics. Éomer mounted Firefoot, and Éofa climbed onto his steed as well – companions of theirs since their own days of training.
Rather than relying on his own stallion, Théodred guided two horses from the stable, where he hitched them to a wagon outside. When he was fully ready, he spurred the wagon on and the other three riders followed in tow. The small company rode then to the home of Éomód and Héodis, who took seats within the bed of the wagon, having entrusted Fulmod to the care of a relative for the weekend.
All together, they wound their way down the hill toward the gates of Edoras, where they came upon the figures of Gríma and Éowyn, though only the latter was mounted upon her horse. Rather than ride, Gríma instead clambered into the wagon alongside Éomód and they all departed into the pink light that heralded dawn.
Few words were exchanged during the first several hours of their journey, for most of the travellers were still shaking off the last tendrils of sleep. They observed the sun slowly inch above the eastern horizon with heartfelt appreciation and enthusiasm for the new day, and it was not until noon approached that several in the company grew restless.
"I am starving!" Éomód suddenly exclaimed from the wagon. "And I cannot believe I am alone in this sentiment."
"I should say not!" Gríma concurred, and in a short moment's work the entire group was gathered about a tiny fire, enjoying cold cuts of meat with bread still warm from when Héodis had baked it that morning. In an equally quick instant, they were back on the road again.
Trepidation settled into Truva's heart; thus far, the trip felt no different from the numerous training runs Éomer had led her on – quick forays into the wilderness that tested her developing survival skills. She once more failed to comprehend the enthusiasm of the others, and so she trailed dispiritedly after them.
They continued across the grasslands at the foothills of the White Mountains until Éomer cut south between two steep banks that gradually reared up into steep cliffs. When the rocky walls fell away and the company found themselves at the head of an ethereal glen, comprehension finally began to dawn upon Truva.
The ground beneath their feet sloped down toward the tree line of an immense forest, through which the Snowbourn crashed on its path north before cutting westward. Beyond the screen of evergreen pine and fir trees rose an imposing wall of rock, sheer and bold. Gathered there amongst friends, Truva felt the unfamiliar sensation of serenity steal over her, for not even in her home back in Edoras did she feel so secure as in the natural shelter provided by their surroundings.
The group halted at a clearing beside the Snowbourn, just a short distance into the trees. Those that had ridden saw to their mounts before gathering firewood and foraging for additional supplies, while those who had ridden in the wagon began to unload it. Truva and Éofa made an excellent team, returning with multiple armfuls of wood and even a pair of rabbits for stew.
By their fifth trip, when they deemed the pile of firewood to be more than sufficient, the wagon team had succeeded in erecting four tents in a semicircle about the banks of the river. Héodis and Éomód immediately laid claim to one of the middle tents, and Éomer demanded that he and Éofa use the foremost tent for security purposes. As the only two remaining males, Théodred and Gríma thought it appropriate that they took the other tent on the end, leaving Truva and Éowyn to awkwardly eye the remaining tent.
Despite the countless hours that Truva had spent under Éowyn's tutelage, the two had still not grown close. They were cordial, to be sure, yet they still felt as strangers to each other. It was in silence that they unpacked their belongings and unrolled their bedding on opposite sides of the large tent, escaping outside as soon as their task was completed.
When they emerged, Éofa had constructed a massive blaze and Héodis was directing Éomer and Gríma in meal preparation. As soon as Éofa was satisfied with his fire, Éomód set up a tripod from which he hung a large cauldron, then proceeded to fill it with water. When Truva and Éowyn inquired as to how they might be helpful, they were bade to relax and provided a tankard of ale by Théodred, who promptly joined them in watching the bustle.
"It will be our job to clean this mess later," he said cheerfully, "A task much better enjoyed when not sober, so drink up!"
The last of the sun's rays lingered above the western hills, staining the eastern cliff a peachy colour by the time the rabbit stew was passed steaming among the members of the party. Their cheerful chatter echoed off the rocky walls and, amplified on its return, boosted the merry mood of the picnickers. Éomód roused himself to act out a comic tale of an old hunter who shot himself more than his prey, only to be followed by Éofa with a few invigorating songs, which were taken up by those who knew the words and tune.
They refilled their bowls until the cauldron was empty, then used the remaining fragments of bread to mop up the last morsels of their meal. Truva found particular enjoyment in the way Gríma surreptitiously cared for Éowyn. Even when it was Théodred who suggested opening a small cask of wine, Gríma was the first to leap up and serve them, Éowyn foremost of all. The others feigned not to notice, though it was with abashed hesitation that Éowyn accepted the attention.
As the fire settled into embers, Héodis launched into a frightening tale of the monsters that lingered in Harrowdale, the spirits of the stone púkel-men that descended at night from the path to Dwimorberg, sometimes as far as Edoras itself. Though Truva did not fully understand the details of the story, the red light of the fire that cast eerie shadows upon Héodis' face and the impenetrable darkness that closed in on all sides only served to heighten the suspense of her skilfully narrated tale. Each ominous crack of twig and ripple of river water caused Truva and Éofa to shift closer together in terror, for both were far more fearful of fictitious tales than genuine threats. Éomer and Théodred laughed at the duo's cowardice, though they caved to pity once a tear rolled down Truva's cheek.
"I shall not be able to sleep for a week!" Éofa exclaimed as the party began to settle in for the night and those whose duty it was saw to it that the dishes were cleaned. When Truva and Éowyn's backs were turned and their arms elbow-deep in river water, Théodred attempted to give them a startling fright in jest, though Truva's earsplitting shriek and instinctive strike to his nose caused him to reconsider any such action in the future.
At last Truva and Éowyn entered their tent to prepare for sleep, an uncomfortable silence floating in the air as they did so. Truva shifted back and forth on her bedding, and heard her tentmate do the same, for both felt unsettled by the circumstances. At great last, Éowyn spoke.
"Truva?" Her voice was quiet, though it startled Truva nevertheless.
"Yes?" she replied, equally quiet.
Éowyn hesitated before she asked at last, "What is your opinion of Gríma?"
Truva sat up with a start, considering her answer carefully. "I have not known him for long, nor am I a good judge of character," she hedged, "Yet I believe him to be a good man, an honest man."
"Do you think so?" Éowyn asked, clearly seeking reassurance. Though their relationship hitherto had not extended beyond matters of Truva's education – lessons conducted with distant, albeit not unfriendly, coolness – Truva wondered whether Éowyn might not be seeking a deeper comradery. Hopeful at the prospect of befriending the intimidating shieldmaiden, Truva boldly decided to disregard caution, rising instead and crossing the tent to sit upon Éowyn's bed. She and Éowyn sat cross-legged, face to face, each assessing the expression of the other in silence a moment.
"I do believe he is a good man," said Truva when she finally broke her reticence. "He has been knowledgeable, thoughtful, and kind in all our interactions.."
"He is not like the other Eorlingas," stated Éowyn. "Not only in the darkness of his hair, but in his behaviour, as well. No other Eorlingas shuns the sword quite as vehemently as he, nor indulges in the written word as he does."
"I do believe his hands have never held anything save pen and spoon!" laughed Truva. "Yet therein lies Gríma's greatest charm: in the very fact that he is unique. I, too, am different from your people – do you fault me for it?"
"I fault none for their differences. And yet, being kin of Théoden King, I cannot help but feel concerned for the image that I would project, were I to accept his advances," Éowyn confessed.
"As I am no kin to any, I cannot possibly understand fully," admitted Truva, "However, Gríma is a trusted adviser of the King, and a regarded member of the community. I do not doubt your uncle and his people are capable of looking beyond appearances and personal oddities, and accepting Gríma for his many virtues."
"This is true," said Éowyn.
"Moreover," said Truva, "I imagine such burdens fall more heavily upon Théodred and – to a lesser extent – Éomer. They are both older and more direct in lineage. Why do you not allow your heart to guide you, rather than duty?"
Éowyn contemplated these words for some time, then said at last with a smile, "I do not know if your wisdom is that which I ought to follow, yet to hear you speak those words I desire to hear is great solace. Thank you, Truva."
"My only hope is to render as great a service to you as your family has rendered me," Truva responded, and it was with smiles upon their face that both fell off to sleep that night.
The next morning, all members of the party were woken by the clatter of pans as Héodis prepared a simple breakfast. Truva arose slowly, still groggy from the previous night, and sat in the silence of the dark tent for a while before Éowyn stirred also.
"Perhaps we should wash up first?" she said.
"Excellent idea," said Truva. "Yesterday's ride left me feeling positively filthy."
With a spare set of clothing each, they wandered along the banks of the Snowbourn until they reached a secluded bend in the river where the water pooled deep and calm, pristine water dappled by the boughs of pine and beech that cast an emerald hue over the scene. Noting a rock that projected out over the water, Truva was struck with a sudden idea.
"Shall we jump in from that ledge?" she suggested, indicating the protrusion.
"I would rather walk the Paths of the Dead!" said Éowyn.
"The paths of the dead?" Truva asked, uncomprehending. "What does that mean?"
"Your Eorling has improved so markedly of late that I often forget you are not one of us," said Éowyn, though upon seeing Truva's crestfallen expression, she quickly amended her words. "That is to say, you have not always been one of us, though you are most certainly a true Eorlingas now."
"I understood your intent," said Truva, who had not realised until that moment how openly her expressions spoke. "Thank you for saying so, all the same, and perhaps I might become a bit more Eorlingas if I were to learn another idiosyncratic phrase."
"My meaning was that I would sooner face certain death than jump into those frigid waters," explained Éowyn. She pointed beyond the tree cover to where the peak of a hulking, bleak mountain was just barely visible through the leaves. "That is Dwimorberg, at the base of which lies a path leading into the very rock itself, haunted by the wraiths of dark men from the southerly regions of the White Mountain – those cursed by Isildur upon breaking their oath of allegiance in the Second Age.
"It is said that no man may pass that way and live. Nigh on five hundred years ago, our own Prince Baldor entered into the shadow of Dwimorberg upon the conclusion of Meduseld's construction, never to return. His father, King Brego, died of despondency the very next year."
"I do recall Gríma mentioning in our lessons the story of King Brego and his son, though he mentioned no paths," said Truva.
"Some fear the Paths more than others, yet it is nevertheless a common expression among us."
"Thank you, I shall keep it in my memory for later reference," said Truva. "Now, will you leap into the river with me, or shall I have to throw you?"
With joyful cries, they both leapt one by one into the Snowbourn. The chill water shocked their lungs when they plunged beneath the river's depths, for though summer fast approached, the snowmelt from the White Mountains showed little indication of warming.
As she grew accustomed to the freezing temperature, Truva allowed her body to be buoyed to the surface and her mind to wander. She opened her eyes and gazed at the clear sky, azure lakes and rivers that traced their way along slight separations in the trees. Truva was undeniably content in having chosen the busy, intense life of an Eorlingas warrior – absent the stress and trauma of the Hidlands as it was – yet the sensation of all duty and expectations melting away was a new and pleasant one for her, regardless of how short-lived she knew it to be.
Éowyn broke Truva's reverie with a shocking wave of cold water, which transformed into a sweeping battle when Truva responded in kind. Both shrieked and splashed until they could stand the piercing chill no longer, then pulled themselves onto the riverbank and donned light underclothes, reviving their bodies as they lay in a thick patch of grass, bathed in warm sunlight.
Truva reluctantly roused herself after a few pangs of hunger, yet even as she stood she heard a rustling in the foliage that aroused her suspicion. Assuming it was one of the other picnickers come to spy on them, Truva motioned for Éowyn to remain silent and snuck behind the sound of footsteps that padded in the direction of their tents.
Just beyond the clearing of camp, however, Truva saw with a start that the footsteps did not belong to one of their party. She held back a gasp when she saw hiding behind a bush a creature so small it was almost child-like, and so emaciated that it was a wonder it had not yet died. Its skin had a deathly grey pallor, and naught but a few strings of hair clung to its skull-like head.
It was with immediate regret that Truva realised she had not brought any weapon with her, but then she recalled having spent the formative years of her life fighting weaponless, hand-to-hand combat. She immediately leapt into action, wrapping herself around the creature's turned back, pinning its limbs to its side and ensnaring its legs.
"Run! Tell the others!" Truva ordered Éowyn, who had followed behind, and she immediately dashed off. Truva struggled to contain the creature as it let out long, pitiful wails that caused her skin to crawl, for trying to keep ahold of the strange being was like attempting to grasp at a hooked fish; it wriggled and squirmed so violently Truva was afraid she would not be able restrain it until the others arrived.
Fortunately, the creature's cry had alerted them, and they were already racing toward Truva's location when Éowyn came upon them. Within moments they all surrounded the wrestling match between Truva and the intruder.
"Who are you and what is your business here?" demanded Éomer. The creature did not reply, and merely let out another wild shriek.
"Perhaps it does not speak Eorling?" suggested Gríma, then asked in the Common Tongue, "What is your name?" More pathetic screams issued from the being.
"Perhaps you should let it go?" Éofa suggested to Truva, and she did so, immediately bolting to a safe distance. The creature lay unmoving where it had been left, breathing heavily and looking entirely defeated, though it ceased its screeching noise.
"Who are you and what is your business here?" Éomer repeated, this time in the Common Tongue.
"Business? We have no business," the creature said at last. Its voice was high and squeaky, and it followed its declaration with a strange sound, as if clearing its throat.
"Is it an Orc?" asked Éowyn to Éomer.
"Orc? We are no nasty Orcses!" the creature declared, the pitch of its voice rising to a screech. "We hates nasty Orcses, yes we do, preciousss!" And again came the revolting, throaty retch: "Gollum, gollum!"
"If it is an Orc, I have never seen such a one," said Éomer. "I know not what it is, but I suspect not an Orc."
"But whether it is friend or foul," added Éofa, "That is far less clear."
"Orc I am not, nor am I fowl," squealed the creature. "I am no bird! Orcses I hate, yesss, precious!"
His wandering dialogue confused them all, though Théodred was next to attempt. "If you have no business here, explain your presence!"
"We are all presence," it said mysteriously, and Truva thought she saw a menacing look in its eye; she steeled herself for an attack, yet in an instant the look was gone, replaced by one of subservience. Still, Truva did not relax.
"What shall we do with it?" asked Éofa.
"We do not know its purpose, so it seems against morals to kill it," said Théodred casually. Upon hearing the word "kill," the creature writhed vigorously upon the earth and renewed its wailing.
"No, do not kill! We are not fowl!" As it struggled, its voice continued to rise higher. They all looked upon the creature with strange and varied feelings. At last Gríma spoke.
"Look at it," he said, with desperation in his voice as he reverted once more to Eorling. Truva studied his face and saw how deeply moved Gríma was by the plight of the creature as he continued, "I do not see how it can do us any harm! Let us act honourably and set it once more upon its path. We have not the right to deprive it of life, nor freedom."
Éomer considered carefully a moment before saying, "I concur. Though we do not know its purpose, it does not seem intent on hurting us."
"Then what must our course of action be?" asked Éofa.
"Let us blindfold it and lead it to a secluded place, then release it where it cannot come back to us," said Éomer.
"Is such a plan possible?" wondered Théodred.
"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Gríma, "Nevertheless, it is the best alternative, is it not?"
The others nodded in agreement. Éomer stepped forward and spoke once more in the Common Tongue. "We will let you go, but in a place of some distance from here. We will blindfold you until we arrive."
The wretch's squealing abated at this proposal, when it came to the realisation that they did not intend to kill it. "Cover our eyes, yes, yes," it said, "We will be good!"
Éofa approached the creature with a scrap of cloth and bound its eyes without much struggle.
"And its hands," Éomer added, though this caused the being to throw itself into a frenzy.
"No, no, not our handses! Our hands are our feetses, we must walk with them!" Its limbs flailed wildly as Éofa struggled to follow Éomer's orders.
"Very well, no hands," Éomer caved. "But you must follow where we direct."
"Yesss, precious! We will follow," it said with low, ominous tones.
Éomer directed Éofa to watch the creature as he drew the others aside and spoke to them in a low voice, purposefully using Eorling so they would not be understood, even if they were overheard. "Truva, Théodred, you come with me and Éofa to see this thing off. The rest of you, pack up the campsite when we are gone. I do not trust this beast, and I think it best that we be gone before nightfall."
They all separated into their individual tasks, and Truva followed Éomer and Éofa, Théodred beside her as they travelled amongst trees and along creeks, occasionally guiding the creature through the Common Tongue and sometimes by the nudge of a staff or branch. True to its word, the being often traversed on all fours, using its hands almost as often as its feet.
At last they came upon the crest of a small hill, deep within the crags of the mountains. The trees were so thick that they were offered no vantage point, and despite not having been blindfolded herself, Truva was thoroughly disoriented. Éomer and Éofa spun the creature around so many times she was afraid it might dispel what little food it had eaten recently, then tied it to a large tree despite its obnoxious protests.
"Do not follow us," warned Éofa.
"If we see you again, I imagine you are capable of comprehending what the conclusion shall be; it will not be pleasant," Éomer added, then led the others some distance in a continuation of the direction they had been travelling before he circled back toward camp, the wretch's wails following them all the while.
"Do you think we ought not to have at least removed its blindfold?" asked Truva in a rare utterance of Eorling, when she believed they were outside of earshot.
"Such devious creatures have no trouble extricating themselves from far more troubling circumstances," Éomer reassured her, conveying his approval of her language use by failing to remark upon it at all, as Théodred had taught him. "We ought to worry more about our safety than its."
They soon found themselves back at camp, which the others had broken down with such alacrity that they were simply waiting about, their task completed. Wordlessly, they mounted up or found a seat in the wagon and began their journey back to Edoras.
Noontide came and passed, and yet none were in the spirit to rest for lunch. Héodis distributed loaves of bread from the wagon, and Truva absentmindedly accepted one, more out of habit than hunger. She gave only the most perfunctory greeting when Éomer rode up beside her.
"I imagine this morning's events must have been shocking," he said, feigning offhandedness.
"I suppose you might say so," said Truva, still preoccupied.
"Your composure and bravery was that of a true Eorlingas," Éomer said, looking Truva straight in the eye. "It was your first time facing a threat outside of drills since coming under my command, and you responded well. Though you have years of experience I know nothing of, today you have proven ability beyond my anticipation."
"Thank you, my lord," replied Truva, truly humbled by his words, yet the disconcerting sound of the creature's shrieks still rung in her ears.
The company arrived in Edoras as the sun hung low over the Misty Mountains in the west, and Éomer was the first to part, saying he was to inform the King of their peculiar encounter. As the others parted toward their separate abodes in turn, a similar uneasy feeling plagued them all.