Author's recommended listening: Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture as well as Vitali's Chaconne
CHAPTER X: STRANGERS IN EDORAS
The swells of grassland rushed beneath the hooves of their horses as Gandalf led the company surely across the pathless open plains, the bright rays from the afternoon sun reflecting upon the rolling waves and washing the world in golden hues. Shadowfax appeared as some mystical creature, a living statue cast of precious silver, unburdened by their frantic pace and indeed reserving himself so that the others might not be left behind.
Even still, they raced against the descending sun. "We must not spend another day in travel," explained Gandalf as he picked up their pace once again. "We will have time to rest upon arrival, but for now we must press on." Thus the narrower the gap between the sun and its resting place behind the Mountains grew, the faster they flew.
So too grew Truva's apprehension, recalling the way in which she and the other Riders had departed Edoras; she was certain that in their absence the situation had failed to improve, and all those who followed Éomer continued to be regarded as outcasts – for that was the discouraging news Elfhelm Marshal had conveyed upon his arrival at the Fords.
Absorbed in her unease, Truva scarcely noticed as the golden world slowly shifted red as the small company pressed on. Over time, however, she began to recognise the layout of the land, noting areas she and the other recruits had explored during their training. They were drawing ever closer, and soon the riders would come to the crest of a low hill, beyond which the foothills of the White Mountains would be revealed, Edoras nestled among them. She sensed Gandalf knew this as well, for he slackened their pace slightly.
"We know not what greeting we may receive at the gates of the city, but my presence was less than welcome upon my last visit. Let us approach at ease." They climbed the final hill then and paused a moment as their destination, already half hidden in the evening shadow of the mountains, came into view. Though their speed was greatly reduced as they rode forward, they were soon hard upon the walls of the city.
The company of five pulled up a short distance beyond the gate, and Gandalf proceeded a few paces ahead of the others. Truva lingered behind the bulk of Legolas and Gimli, so that she might be out of sight of the guards and not invite their queries or ire.
"Stay, strangers here unknown!" a voice called out in Eorling. "Who are you that come heedless over the plain, in the company of one who has of late been banished from within our walls?"
"Banished?" questioned Gandalf, half to himself, considering the four figures behind him thoughtfully. The other three looked in confusion amongst themselves before turning at last to Truva, who could do nothing save cower slightly in her saddle. Gandalf said nothing, merely turned back toward the gate to call out again.
"Well do I understand your speech," he spoke with booming voice, "Yet few strangers do so. Why then do you not speak in the Common Tongue, as is the custom in the West, if you wish to be answered?"
"It is the will of Théoden King that none should enter his gates, save those who know our tongue and are our friends," replied the guard. "Never have we seen other riders so strange, borne by horses so like to our own, and an arrival of such suspicious timing. It is but two nights ago that the King's advisor came to us and said that by the will of Théoden no stranger shall pass these gates."
Truva's head snapped up at the mention of Gríma. "We are no strangers!" she cried. "Well you know me and the horses upon which we ride. We have no business with Gríma, but request an audience with Théoden King, little distinction though there might be between the two of late," though the last phrase Truva muttered to herself.
"Will you not go or send to say we've come?" asked Gandalf.
"If you will not grant us an audience, at least give us leave to enter, so that you might detain me," added Truva.
"I will go and learn my King's will. But what names shall I report, save that of the traitor? And what shall I say of you and your business?"
"Say that Gandalf has returned, and with him has come Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Kings. With me also are Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, our companions. Go now and say that we would have speech with him, if he will permit us to come into his hall, and that it is a matter of great urgency."
"Strange names you give indeed!" replied the guardsman. "But I will report them as you bid. Wait here a little while, and I will bring you such answer as seems good to him." With that, an indistinct figure could be seen breaking away from the gate and ascending the hill toward Meduseld in a rush. The company waited in uncomfortable silence; nothing could be heard save the shifting of horses and their breathless snorts.
At long last, the guardsman returned back down the hill. "Théoden gives you leave to enter, but any weapon that you bear, be it only a staff, you must leave on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."
With that, one half of the gate slowly pulled inward, and the five travellers were allowed entry. As they passed through the gateway arch, half a dozen Eorlingas warriors could be seen clustered about the gate and its towers, observing the newcomers silently. Truva recognised several faces, though she knew none of them by name.
"Follow me!" said the guardsman, and three other warriors fell in beside him as they guided the company up the hill. A few Eorlingas villagers were about, but they lingered apart, exchanging concerned looks and whispers behind secretive hands. None greeted Truva outright, or even gave any indication of recognising her.
When they arrived before Meduseld, the guardsmen exchanged a few hushed words with the doorwarden Háma, then departed back down the hill with his men. The company was instructed to leave their mounts tied to the post beside the stone foundation of the Hall, and the horses gratefully drank from the water basins provided.
After seeing to Bron, Truva followed as the strange company mounted the stone steps up to the vast entrance of the hall, her heart constricting painfully as she recalled all the times she had done so in the company of Théodred. The distraction the previous few days had provided vanished in an instant, and her breath came in quick gasps at the thought that never again would she find amusement in the Prince's stories as they conversed beneath the dusty beams of sunlight streaming in through the stained glass of Meduseld.
Truva's bearing was quite sharply drawn back to the present when Háma and two others blocked the riders' advance to the hall. Her frequent lessons at Meduseld had in the past led Truva to consider the doorwarden a friend, yet he lowered his gaze now and would not meet her eyes, shifting uncomfortably beneath the steady, stern regard of the Wizard.
"Here I must bid you leave your weapons before you enter," said Háma, extending his hand entreatingly. The five exchanged brief glances, yet they knew there was little alternative, and thus there followed a prolonged rustle of movement as each unburdened themselves of all that they carried: Legolas his giant bow and the sharpest of knives, as well as Gimli's axe, which had scarcely left his hand since Truva first encountered them – including in his sleep.
Aragorn's hesitancy was apparent. "It is not my will to deliver my sword unto the hand of any other man," he said to the doorwarden.
"It is the will of Théoden," replied Háma.
"Come, come!" said Gandalf, offering Háma the hilt of his own blade. "We are all friends here, or should be. Here at least is my sword."
Aragorn reluctantly removed his sword, though he would not allow anyone else to handle it, instead setting it upon the wall himself.
"You too, Truva," said Háma. "You especially."
Truva's face fell. She had known that her reception would not be a congenial one, yet it was painful to experience the way in which those she had once considered friends looked upon her with suspicion. Her expression was sullen as she unfastened her sword – simple and unadorned as it was, without name such as the blades of her companions – and set it upon the ground before that of Aragorn. She laid also her bow, quiver, and dagger in a pile beside her sword.
"Now will you let us pass?" said Gandalf.
"Your staff," said Háma, almost apologetically.
"Foolishness! Prudence is one thing, discourtesy is another. Would you part an old man from his support?" Gandalf asked innocently.
"The King mentioned it specifically. A staff in the hand of a wizard may be more than a prop for age," said Háma, then paused and glanced askance at the Wizard. "Yet a man in doubt will trust to his own wisdom. I believe you to be friends with no evil purpose. You may go in."
When they entered, the once welcoming hall in which she had spent so many hours studying and celebrating was nearly unrecognisable to Truva. It had transformed into a dreary, ominous cave, fit only for brooding and malicious thought; and naught but a faint crimson light from the dying sun penetrated the windows, tinging with a sinister glow what little area of the hall was not shrouded in darkness. No sign of the great hounds Truva adored could be found, and the only other occupants were a small group of darkly clad men skulking in the wings of the hall.
Théoden sat as ever upon his throne, yet as the company approached Truva could see he had aged greatly even in the few short days she had been away. The King's white hair had further lost its lustre, and the wrinkled flesh of his face seemed pallid and skull-like. The lavish raiment that had once given him an illustrious air now hung loosely upon his skeletal frame. Truva could not help but gasp when she beheld such distorted features.
Behind the King's throne stood Éowyn, a once reserved but cheerful spirit – yet as Truva looked upon her empyrean features it seemed as though all the sadness in the world had stormed her soul, and Truva was certain the unhappiness of the King's sister-daughter was due in great part to the figure who emerged then from the shadows: Gríma.
"Well, well, does the traitor come to beg forgiveness?" Gríma sneered at Truva.
"I see but one traitor here, and it is not myself," she retorted, anger flaring in her heart once more, for in her mind a clear sequence of events linked the advisor's inexplicable treachery with the death of Théodred.
"It is not I who deserted our King, only to fly straight into the arms of his enemy!" snarled Gríma ere he fixed his gaze upon the Wizard. "You bring nothing save grim news to these halls, Gandalf Stormcrow. What ill omen do you portend now?"
"The wise speak only of what they know, Gríma son of Galmód. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm," Gandalf reprimanded, then turned to the King. "Hail, Théoden son of Thengel! I have returned, for the storm comes and all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed."
"I greet you," replied the King, though his voice lacked the musicality Truva was accustomed to hearing; it fell flat and without strength upon her ears. His eyes, too, had lost their youthful vigour and he seemed but a husk that trembled upon the slightest of winds. "I greet you," the King repeated faintly, "And maybe you look for welcome, yet as this 'worm' says, ever have you been a herald of woe."
"In two ways may a man come with evil tidings," said Gandalf. "He may be a worker of evil; or he may be as such as leaves well alone, and comes only to bring aid in times of need."
"What aid have you ever brought, Stormcrow?" spat Gríma. "And what aid do you bring now? Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? That I would call aid; that is our present need. I guess that you come as ever, seeking aid rather than rendering it."
Gandalf paid little attention to Gríma, staring intently upon the seated figure of Théoden King. "No counsel have I to give those that despair. Yet counsel I could give, and words I could speak to you. Will you not hear them? Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark."
As he said this, Gandalf stood to his full height and threw off the tatters of his grey cloak, revealing the snowy folds beneath. When he raised his staff, the light from the windows faded and threw the hall further into darkness.
"His staff!" Gríma cried. "Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff? That fool Háma has betrayed us!"
From beyond the darkened windows thunder rolled briefly, then a flash of light as bright as lightning struck the exact spot upon which Gríma stood. He let out a shriek, followed by silence, and the King's advisor lay sprawled upon the floor.
"And yet, it is still unmannerly to deprive the elderly of their walking sticks," said Gandalf, contentedly drawing his staff back to himself as a faint light returned to the hall. The Wizard faced Théoden once more. "My lord, long have you unwittingly served under the heavy weight of your enemy's thumb, trusting to crooked tales and wicked promptings. Come now, shrug off that mantle and don again your own."
As he said these words, Gandalf raised his staff imperceptibly and bent it toward the King, and though it was neither clear nor apparent, there was a notion – as if some electric energy was building, expanding toward the King. It felt refreshing, invigorating, inviting even to those whom it was not intended for; and after a period of tense silence passed, Théoden rose unsteadily from his throne.
"Gandalf," said the King. His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it gave an allusion of warmth.
"Too long have you been shut away in this dismal chamber, trapped in mind as well as body. Come, come outside and see the last rays of the sun illuminate your kingdom," said Gandalf.
Truva watched, astounded, as Théoden King obeyed the Wizard's command. He shook so violently when he stood that Truva feared he would fall back again, yet in the span of a blink Éowyn was at his side, supporting her uncle as he tottered past the astonished company and the prone form of Gríma to the entrance of the Hall. As though he had been listening, Háma opened the doors at the precise moment the King reached them, allowing a crisp breeze to waft in and bring new life into Meduseld.
Followed by the newly arrived travellers, Théoden King took several more feeble steps beyond the doors and out onto the stone terrace.
"Send your guards down to the stairs' foot," Gandalf urged Háma before turning to Éowyn, "And you, my lady, leave him a while with me. I shall care for him."
"Go, Éowyn sister-daughter," Théoden King said when she continued to linger, though the ever growing strength of his voice reassured her. "The time for fear is past."
Yet still Éowyn tarried, for it had been many long years that she served as a bulwark between the King and those that sought to harm him, and to abandon her uncle in such a precarious situation made her uneasy – or so Truva believed the reason behind the shield-maiden's hesitation to be. Truva then observed her gaze linger upon the proud figure of Aragorn, however, and she suspected it was not merely Théoden King Éowyn was loath to part from; yet the scene transformed before Truva could be sure of what she had witnessed, and Éowyn turned swiftly to retreat back into Meduseld.
"Now, lord," said Gandalf, "Look out upon your land! Breathe the free air again!"
Théoden King averted his eyes briefly from the light of the fading sunset, which seemed to have been waiting for his appearance to reveal its full glory; for when the King finally faced it fully, the sun flashed its last sliver of light across the great expanse that lay before them, proceeding to bathe the western side of the mountains about them in majestic purple. Twilight unfurled across the land, seeming both foreboding and auspicious.
"It is not so dark here," said the King.
"No," replied Gandalf, "Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulder as some would have you think."
Théoden King stood a moment, pausing to take in the sight anew. Then he said softly to himself, "My son," as though recalling for the first time the death of Théodred. A quietude spread throughout the company.
"Yes," said Gandalf, though Truva wondered at how both the King and Gandalf could have knowledge of the events at the Fords. "He died defending Rohan even as Rohan turned from him."
"It was a most gallant death," Truva added, suddenly recovering her senses and stepping forward. "Oft he spoke to me of his fears that he would prove unequal the deeds of his forebears, and yet his valour and fortitude at the Fords was deserving of being remembered alongside even the greatest warriors of the Mark."
"Oh, Truva," said the King, taking her hands in his own as he strove to hold back tears. "My dear, it has been told to me the way in which you defended Théodred upon the battlefield; Éofa came swift as a bird unto my halls, and yet in my blindness I had him jailed for desertion. Call Háma, ever dependable in his duty, and let him bring Éofa to me."
"It was not your blindness, but the malice of he who occupies Isengard," Gandalf reassured the King as Háma was summoned and set off on the task assigned him.
"Perhaps, though I must nevertheless accept the role I have played," said Théoden. He stood in thoughtful silence for quite some time, contemplating the situation that lay before him. "Alas that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned. The young perish and the old linger, withering."
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if they grasped a sword hilt," suggested Gandalf. Théoden reached then for his sword, only to discover that it was not at his side.
"Where has Gríma stowed it?" he muttered.
"Take mine, my lord!" cried a voice. All those who stood about upon the terrace of Meduseld looked down upon the road to see the approaching figure of Éofa, followed closely by Háma, and the grin upon the former's face belied his shockingly dishevelled appearance. "It was ever at your service."
"My lord, forgive me," said Háma, "But it was my understanding that Éofa was to be freed, and since he was free again, I brought him his sword as he bade me."
"It is not your own unparalleled blade," said Éofa, kneeling before Théoden and extended his sheathed sword hilt-first toward the King, "Yet I offer your highness my own as a sign of undiminished fealty."
For a long while, Théoden King failed to react, and merely gazed upon Éofa blankly as though he did not comprehend the soldier's words.
"Will you not take the sword?" prompted Gandalf.
Wordlessly, the King drew Éofa's sword deliberately then, and Truva watched as the signs of ageing – wrinkled skin and arthritic hands, dull eyes and hair that had lost its lustre – slowly faded before her very eyes, leaving in their place the features of a much younger man; one who appeared once more to be the King Truva recalled upon her first arrival at Edoras. Though his hair was white as ever, the strength with which he gripped his sword was that of a man yet in his prime.
With a start, Théoden called out in a voice that reverberated off all surrounding buildings and into the furthest crevices of the White Mountains:
"Arise now, arise, riders of Théoden!
Dire needs awake, dark it is eastward.
Let horses be bridled, horns be sounded!
Forth Eorlingas!"
Éofa whooped, "Westu Théoden hál! It is a joy to us to see you return to your own, my lord!"
"Take back your sword, Éofa," said Théoden King. "Go, Háma, and seek my own. Gríma has it in his keeping. Bring him to me also." Aragorn returned to the Hall and physically lifted the King's ousted councillor by the back of his black robes and dragged him outside before the King.
"Dear Lord!" cried Gríma. "It is as I feared. This Wizard has bewitched you. He would draw you into war! Would you listen to this Wizard, this stirrer of trouble, this bearer of destruction and woe before you would trust your own adviser, who has done nothing but serve you faithfully for years?"
"It is oft the news we do not wish to hear that is most crucial for us to heed," said the King. "If this is bewitchment, it seems more wholesome than your whisperings."
"Have pity on one worn out in your service," he grovelled.
"With safety you cannot take him with you, nor can you leave him behind," counselled Gandalf. "To slay him would be just."
Truva brooded on the Wizard's words a spell before she gathered courage to speak. "It was not always as it now is. It is true that Gríma has misled us – perhaps to our destruction – yet once he was a man and did you service in his fashion. Is it not perhaps that he was misled in the same way my lord was? Give him a horse and let him go wherever he chooses. By his choice you shall judge him."
Gandalf gave Truva a curious look before he said to Théoden, "She is not wrong, you know."
It was then that Háma returned with the King's sword. "Here, lord, is Herugrim, your ancient blade. It was found in his chest. Many other things are there which men have missed."
"Do you hear this, Gríma?" said the King. "This is your choice: to follow us now to where our path may lead, be it war or otherwise, and let us see whether you are true; or to go now, whither you will."
Gríma hesitated but a moment, his face flashing between expressions of equal rage and terror, before he turned and fled down the hill toward the gates of Edoras, his black robe streaming out behind him. For a man of learning, he ran surprisingly fast.
"After him!" called Théoden to Háma. "See that he does no harm to any, but do not hurt him or hinder him. Give him a horse, if he wishes it. While not a single mount in our stable may be found wanting, select for him one most contrary; I would not allow that devil to harass any of our venerable horses, who have spent years in faithful service." Háma bowed and departed after the retreating figure of Gríma, and a sense of contentment settled over those gathered before Meduseld.
Éofa lept to Truva's side then and embraced her tightly. "I am glad to find you healthy," he said, and Truva was quite elated to find that she did not feel wholly uncomfortable with this gesture.
"Likewise," she said, though even if she had hoped to return the embrace, she found her arms pinned to her side by Éofa's vice-like grip.
"It brings tears to my eyes to see such a happy reunion," said King Théoden, "And yet it pains me unspeakably to know there is one who will never return; in my half-conscious state, I was remiss upon hearing news of my son's death, and held no ceremony. We shall hold one tonight. Éofa, Háma, please see to accommodations for our guests – the best that you can provide! I am certain they are exhausted from their journey and desire to wash up."
"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," said Aragorn as he, Gimli, and Legolas bowed low before the King and were led away by Éofa and Háma.
"I imagine Éomód and Héodis will be thrilled to take in new guests," Truva said with a quiet smile, determining to visit her friends as soon as she cleaned up herself.
"They are truly considerate hosts, as I am sure you recall," said the King in reply. "Now I, too, must retire. I feel as though I have aged a hundred years in as many days. Come, Gandalf; as tired as I am, we have much to discuss." Gandalf lent an arm to support the King, who was still unsteady on his feet, and they turned in the direction of the King's quarters.
The instant the two were beyond the hearing of others, Théoden turned at once to Gandalf and said, "The news I know you bring me is deeply troubling, Gandalf, and I fear time is critical. We shall muster all those who can reach Edoras before noon tomorrow, and depart as soon as we may."
"It would be preferable to leave tonight, yet still it is not unwise to set out with a larger force if it can be summoned," Gandalf admitted.
"Then it is decided. I will send for Háma after he is finished with our guests, and instruct him to dispatch heralds to the outlying villages with a message to gather as many men as can fight."
Left solitarily upon the terrace, Truva sighed a breath of exhaustion. The past few days blurred into one macabre series of events, yet returning home eased her agitation in a way she did not think possible. She descended the steps of the terrace to the post where Bron stood alone, for Aragorn and the others had already led their mounts to the stables.
Truva followed in their footsteps, though they were gone by the time she arrived. After untacking Bron, she took her time rubbing him down and allowed him to fully enjoy the especial treatment he had more than earned. When she recalled how bravely Bron had borne her through battle at the Fords, and the wild chases she had led him on afterward, Truva leaned heavily upon his chest in wordless thanks; he lowered his head and rested it upon her back in response, and to Truva it felt as though he understood her sentiments.
"I have no treats," said Truva by way of apology, pulling back and filling his bin with the most aromatic hay she could find. Bron snorted, but it was less accusatory and more conciliatory in tone. "I promise I shall bring some tomorrow."
With that, Truva gave Bron a final affectionate rub on his snout, gathered her packs, and made her way out of the stable, exhaustion governing her every laboured move as she walked toward the training ground. Memories flooded back with every turn: recollections of conversations with Théodred, training sessions with Éomer, jokes with the other recruits; she missed them all dreadfully and wondered how those who remained at the Fords were managing – yet there was but one to whom her thoughts continually returned, one she couldn't bear to think upon.
Truva opened the door to her tiny home. Faced with its stark interior, she recalled her first night there, and Théodred traipsing in the next morning to decorate the table with simbelmynë. She recalled also the day of the picnic, when he had gone in search of her rucksack as though he were in his very own quarters. An eternity seemed to have passed since those times, and a lifetime since she had believed herself to be leaving it all behind to face banishment alongside Éomer. The uninhabited room before her did not feel as though it was hers.
Truva arrayed her gear in a corner and went outside to gather water. She heated bucket after bucket to the scalding point, then sat in a bath so long the water grew cold again. Once she reluctantly emerged, she dressed in the simplest of training uniforms, donned a cloak to ward off the night chill, and set off for Éomód and Héodis' house.
The racket that emitted from their home was audible from quite some distance. Laughter and conversation washed over Truva as she paused just beyond the pools of golden light that escaped from the windows, composing herself and summoning the energy to match the greeting that she knew was to come. When at last Truva pushed open the front door and entered, Éomód and Héodis both leapt upon her, smothering her with hugs and kind words.
"We had no news!" cried Héodis.
"Even Éofa was swept away into confinement before he could reveal anything to anyone," added Éomód.
"You must be starving! Look, you are skin and bones!"
"She has always been skin and bones!"
"Sit down, sit down! I hear there is to be a feast in honour of your victory at the Fords, and of the passing of Théodred, but you must eat something before then," demanded Héodis, pulling Truva to an additional table that they had conjured and set beside the main one.
The reason for the noise was more than apparent: all three of the other guests were gathered about the first dining table, and the Elf and Dwarf continued to chat together quite contentedly, scarcely acknowledging Truva's arrival. Éofa and Éowyn were there also, discussing all that had transpired since the departure of the outcasts. Aragorn was the only one quiet, listening at times to one conversation and then another.
Truva was placed forcefully into a seat across from the Ranger by Héodis, who immediately showered her with food and additional hugs. The finest bread and cheese appeared before Truva, as did fruit and cured meats and wine. Éomód sat next to her and assailed her ears with chatter – primarily concerning the commonplace events that had occurred recently in Edoras, for he considerately chose to avoid delving into her experiences since the departure of Éomer's forces.
"Oh, how we have missed you!" he nattered, "True, it has not been long since your last visit, but Fulmod has been especially sullen without your games. He is in the back room now, sleeping already. Poor little tyke is constantly tuckered out from all the chores and lessons Héodis has been making him do.
"Say, strange is the company you bring; never would I have believed that I would one day be hosting an Elf beneath my roof — An Elf, Truva! He and the Dwarf will be staying in Éomer's empty quarters, and the Man, what was his name? Ah, yes — Aragorn! He shall be staying with Éofa. Lovely gentleman, he is. Very proper…"
Truva allowed him to prattle on, relishing the comforting atmosphere of the familiar house and food. Héodis sat to Truva's other side, adding nothing to Éomód's commentary save a few interjections, though she occasionally piled more delicacies on top of that which she had already provided. She also rose occasionally to refill Gimli's ale cup, which he was downing with incredible alacrity.
Before too long, Háma appeared at the door. "There you all are! I should have known; it is always here you may be found. The King sends his greetings and would like to inform you that the celebration shall begin an hour from now."
"Thank you, Háma!" said Éomód.
"It is but my duty," said Háma with a brief bow before withdrawing to inform other distinguished households of the news. The company lingered a while longer, then assisted Héodis and Éomód in clearing the tables and leisurely made their way toward Meduseld.
Though it was clear the Hall had been prepared in haste, it was elegantly swathed in black, and the darkness that enveloped it was no longer that of neglect, but of regal grieving.
"It is your first Eorlingas wake, is it not?" Éofa asked Truva quietly.
"My first wake of any kind," she replied.
The group passed through the doors, adorned in simbelmynë, into the main hall. Sable fabric was hung in the place of tapestries, and all tables were similarly covered; and the entire hall was dim in the faint light of a few torches, save the dais which was illuminated brilliantly. Théoden King's throne had been replaced by some carven figure, and as they approached Truva could see it was a magnificent wooden statue of Théodred's stallion, inlaid with gold and glittering jewels. Scattered upon its back and about its hooves were blossoms of simbelmynë, which made the horse appear as though it floated through clouds.
Héodis and Éomód approached first, bowing deeply to their knees. With outspread hands they touched the flowers that lay upon the ground, and remained still and silent a moment before they arose. They brushed their fingertips along the wooden statue then turned away, moving aside for Éofa and Éowyn, who repeated the same pattern.
When it was her turn, Truva did her best to follow the example set by those who had gone before. At first, she was most concerned about performing the gestures properly, yet as she kneeled upon the floor and touched her fingertips to the white simbelmynë, she felt the purity of Théodred's spirit flow through her, and a melancholic reassurance passed from her hands to her heart. Whether grief or comfort pulsed stronger she knew not, and feared she never would.
Truva rose at great last and moved aside, allowing those who came behind to approach the statue as she followed the others to the table in the corner where they were accustomed to sitting. Turning to look back, the Eorlingas watched as the three strange travellers bent in greeting to a warrior they had never met, and were touched by this gesture.
When Éofa guided the newcomers to the table, the trio made as if to sit upon the far side, nearer the walls. With a glance at Truva, however, Héodis boldly laid a staying hand upon Aragorn's arm, saying, "Ah, there are those among us who would prefer those seats."
She sat promptly in the very middle of the far bench, gesturing for Truva to join her, for ever since the first banquet Héodis had come to understand many of Truva's oddities and how best to accommodate them, and subsequently she had developed habits such as announcing her visits to Truva's barracks rather than knocking, and always offering her friend a secluded seat.
Most importantly, she knew there was something in Truva that prevented her from making any such requests of her own volition; and as her own personality meant that she had no qualms whatsoever in drawing attention to herself, Héodis often allowed others to assume it was her own peculiarities that drove her to behave in a strange manner. It was thus, as the visitors took seats about the table shaking their heads slightly in bemusement, that Truva gave a thankful half-smile to Héodis, who winked surreptitiously in return.
Other Eorlingas filtered in, each paying their respects before taking seats scattered throughout the hall. The atmosphere was entirely different from Truva's first banquet, for a sombre mood reigned in place of the boisterous hubbub, yet none seemed to be discouraged from engaging in quiet conversation; it was if the mournful yet soothing tranquillity Truva had experienced upon touching the simbelmynë earlier had spread throughout those present.
Even in that moment, the hounds of the King emerged from a side door and moved about the guests for the first time after their long absence from the Hall, doling out comfort where they may. A particularly immense wolfhound approached Truva and would not leave her side, leaning his massive bulk against her back until she turned to embrace him wholeheartedly, allowing his warmth to penetrate into her very core.
As the crowd of mourners continued to trickle in, servers began to distribute their endless supply of food and drink, though as before the Eorlingas remained reserved and did not touch the dishes that lay tempting upon the table.
When at last the few remaining stragglers paid their respects to Théodred and took their seats, Théoden King appeared upon the dais, followed closely by Gandalf. The King's recovery seemed even more evident than it had been earlier in the evening, for a pink flush had returned to his face and his bearing was once again that of a tall and proud sovereign; yet a crease of exhaustion was engraved deeply upon his brow, and his stark white hair had become an immutable aspect of his character.
Théoden King and his Wizard companion took their place behind the statue of Théoden's horse, and in his hands the King bore a folded black shroud, which he raised before him as he addressed those gathered in the Hall.
"Thank you all for coming," he began, then paused and bowed his head momentarily. He took a deep breath and raised his head before continuing, "Long has it been since I have felt so much myself, and it brings great solace to me in seeing your faces with renewed clarity.
"Tonight, we celebrate the life of our beloved Théodred, who brought light and laughter to all who encountered him. Lately in our darkening days, Théodred served as an unerring star, forever in its place whether clouds obscure the sky or clear nights reigned.
"He died a valorous death, defending those who knew not what they had to fear, so that they might live longer in peace. It is said that his death was every bit as glorious as his daily presence was delightful, for ever a fire burnt beneath his lighthearted exterior, a fire that called him to a duty many need never fulfil.
"Nor shall we forget those who fought and perished beside Théodred, in whose hearts a similar fire burned. The significance of their sacrifice must not be underestimated, for dark days loom before us. Remember those we have lost as you dine tonight; reflect upon happy memories and good times. We cannot halt the turning of the world, yet we can ensure our loved ones do not become insignificant in the face of unyielding time."
He held the shroud aloft and shook it loose above the statue. It hung briefly suspended in the air before settling upon the carven figure, revealing only its outline beneath the gossamer threads. Gandalf placed a bundle of simbelmynë upon the back of the horse as Théoden accepted two glasses of wine and, handing one to the Wizard, raised the other above his head.
"To Théodred!" he cried.
"To Théodred!" the hall chorused after him, taking a deep drink in silence. Théoden King descended then from the dais and moved about the tables, greeting those who wished to extend condolences while others turned to their meals and the murmur of conversation resurged.
"We haven't eaten properly nigh on— well, since I can't remember!" exclaimed the Dwarf, enthusiastically falling upon the spread.
"Certainly since we left Lórien," added Legolas as he readily accepted a second glass of wine.
"Lórien!" said Éofa in surprise. "It is a place we know only in our stories – which say no man may pass through alive."
"Would you accuse me of speaking falsely?" said Legolas.
"Forgive my rudeness! I certainly did not wish to accuse you of being false – it is simply that you must be the only beings in these lands to have visited such a distant and intriguing place. What task was it that brought you through the woods of Lórien?" Éofa asked. Truva listened intently, hoping that Éofa might be met with more luck in teasing information from the Elf than Aragorn had revealed, though he was forthcoming no further.
"I believe your King Théoden might speak much on that soon," said the Elf evasively.
"You said you departed from Imladris," prompted Truva, nevertheless determined to take advantage of the opportunity. "What path did you take from there that led you then to Lórien? Did you go through the High Pass? Or travel south to Redhorn?"
"Well, aren't you an interrogative lass?" said Gimli, and Truva raised her eyebrows slightly at his words, yet said nothing so as not to interrupt him in hopes that he would speak more, and he did not give her cause for disappointment:
"We set out south, initially bound for the Pass of Caradhras, but were beaten back by impassable conditions and traversed instead the Mines of Moria." The three travellers shuddered slightly before the Dwarf continued, "In that way we arrived at Lórien, then sailed upon the great Anduin to Rauros."
"It was there we were separated from our Halfling companions, and set out on foot across the lands of the Rohirrim," said Legolas. Aragorn remained silent throughout his companions' narration, and Truva observed him as she listened, discerning from their words and his minute expressions that significant details had once more been ignored in this telling – not least of which being why they had risked such a dangerous path in the first place.
"The Mines of Moria," said Truva. "It is rumoured they are overridden with fell creatures; or is that an exaggeration of our tales, as it is with Lórien?"
"Terrible things we encountered in Moria," said Aragorn at last, "Yet I believe I speak for my friends as well as myself when I say we do not wish to think back on those terrible halls."
The Ranger's two companions nodded in agreement, and while Truva failed to comprehend why they had not travelled further south to the Gap of Rohan – for it seemed to her as though all the Orcs of Isengard could not possibly compare to the horrors they must have encountered in the Mines – the current circumstances did not seem appropriate to press the issue.
The conversation petered out and the group ate without speaking for a while, though Truva was unable to stomach much food and instead sat back to surreptitiously observe those seated around her. Éomód and Héodis were expressing their affection for one another in a variety of ways: providing food or squeezing hands or nudging each other cheekily. Éofa – ever the embodiment of a soldier – was wholly absorbed in his food, while Legolas and Gimli conversed wordlessly, merely raising eyebrows and exchanging peculiar expressions.
After some time, as dialogue once more slowly picked up between the companions about the table, Héodis turned discreetly to Truva. "I have an idea," she said in hushed tones, careful to ensure their conversation was not overheard.
"What might that idea be?" asked Truva, equally quiet.
"It is for an unhappy reason we celebrate tonight, yet I have heard rumours that Théoden King's condition has greatly improved, and his birthday fast approaches." She lowered her voice even further. "Do you not think it a good time to arrange some sort of surprise celebration?"
Truva mused upon this proposition for a moment. "I think it is a wonderful idea, especially upon the return of those who were banished."
"Precisely!" enthused Héodis, her voice still barely above a whisper. "I am so glad you approve! Yet it shall be no easy undertaking – do you suppose there might be any others who would be willing to help us plan such an event?"
"I am certain Éofa would be overjoyed, and he above all others can be trusted to keep a secret…" Truva answered distractedly, taking little notice of Héodis' reply, for she felt the unsettling sensation of eyes upon her. She glanced up, only to meet the gaze of Aragorn, whose face bore a disconcerting frown. Truva immediately averted her eyes, for she could not endure the forcefulness behind his gaze; she felt as though he were scrutinising her, looking for some weakness, probing the innumerous cracks that threatened the foundation of her very being.
It was in casting her glance aside, however, that Truva noticed an even more curious thing: the unmoving figure of Éowyn, her vision focused wholly upon Aragorn with an intensity she had never witnessed the Eorlingas maiden exhibit before. Éowyn scarcely blinked as she fixed the Ranger in her gaze, and any attempt to call her attention was met with no response.
Truva's observation of this peculiar development was suddenly interrupted by the approach of Théoden King, who had come at last to greet the new arrivals, though their Wizard companion had vanished unobserved at some point and no longer accompanied the King.
"Is the food to your liking?" Théoden asked his guests. "And what of your quarters?"
"It is all very much to our liking!" the Dwarf enthused. "Please convey our thanks to Éomer for the use of his home."
"And I do believe this wine is the greatest quality of any found beyond the Elven kingdoms!" said Legolas.
Aragorn, reserved as ever, rose and bowed deeply. "It is with deepest gratitude that we accept your hospitality," he said.
"We would welcome you more extravagantly had our house not fallen to such ill of late," said the King, turning then to Truva. "And long have I been remiss in awarding what you, Truva, are due; many years have you served the Mark faithfully, more so than a great many others who have come before. I cannot, without the presence and permission of Éomer, promote you in rank, yet unto you I can bestow something else:
"I grant to you full citizenship; from this day onward, you are no longer merely my ward, an outsider – you are a true member of the Mark, deserving of rights no different from any Eorlingas born within our borders. I would have held a ceremony, yet considering the style in which you fled your first one, I thought it best to forgo it."
Those who had been present at Truva's introductory feast all those years ago chuckled good-naturedly, yet Truva was too touched to be embarrassed by the recollection. She bolted to her feet with tears in her eyes and bowed so low she nearly knocked her head upon the bench.
"Thank you, your highness!" she cried. "Ever shall I serve you to the fullest of my abilities, with unparalleled devotion and spirit bolstered by your magnanimity!"
"I believe you shall," smiled the King. He then took a seat beside Truva and lowered his voice further, so that none save Truva could hear.
"Yet it was oft in my days of mental haze, under the spell of Saruman, that Théodred came and spoke to me of all things occurring within our walls, from the most insignificant matter to those of the greatest consequence. I believe he had hoped in some small part to counter Gríma's influence.
"At that time, I did not comprehend the meaning of his words, yet as the fog was lifted from my eyes this evening, I could recall all that he told me. I must say, it was not infrequently that he spoke your name." Théoden King paused momentarily and looked deep into Truva's eyes, a sorrowful but kindly expression passing across his face. He gave to her a spray of simbelmynë he held in his hands.
"I will forever consider you a daughter," he said softly, and the tears that threatened to spill from Truva's eyes then were of mourning rather than happiness, the joy of acceptance suddenly replaced by the heartbreak of inconsolable loss. Her gaze fell to the simbelmynë that she spun in her fingers, recalling once more the time Théoden had presented her with the flowers to welcome her into her new home.
Théoden King rose and, after laying a hand briefly upon Truva's shoulder, departed to speak with the last few mourners. The remainder of the feast passed uneventfully; Truva ate only a mouthful here and there as the others conversed around her, for she did not have the spirit to engage, and when the back of her neck tingled it was but fleetingly that she lifted her gaze, only to find Aragorn staring at her intently yet again.
As the banquet concluded, Théoden King ascended once more to the dais. "Loth as I am to burden this feast of remembrance with further unhappy news," he spoke, his resonant voice carrying without strain throughout the Hall, "The inevitable can be postponed no longer, for it was defending our borders from the advancing forces of Isengard that Théodred laid down his life. Many years have we fended off Saruman's pernicious attacks, yet his offences against us have reached a climax that cannot go unopposed. We must now resort to the last option left to us: war."
A collective gasp was heard, and whispering spread throughout the Hall.
"It is with heavy heart that I ask every able-bodied man to return home tonight and prepare to depart by noon tomorrow, for the purpose of defending our land from this encroaching evil," continued the King over the building murmur. "This is a duty none wish to face, yet it is that of all who live to see such times – to ensure that no other may endure a similar fate. Go now and say your goodbyes, and to rest as much as you can before our departure."
The whispering grew to a roar as everybody rose at once, voices drowning out even the scrape of benches against the flagstone floor. The growing darkness had not escaped the notice of a single citizen, yet upon hearing the word "war" uttered – from the mouth of the King no less! – the Eorlingas were sent into a frenzy.
They poured from the Hall into the chilly night like a river bursting forth from a dam. When Truva looked skyward amidst the roiling tumult, the clarity of the stars seemed to question whether the fleeting lives of Men, or even the everlasting lives of Elves, could truly match the endless sway of what lay beyond. To those tiny specks of light, even the surging darkness that threatened to sweep away all that was known was nothing more than a fleeting moment in eternity.
Éowyn's presence beside her returned Truva to myopic reality. Glancing to the shield-maiden, Truva said, "I suppose you shall finally ride with us."
"If only it were so," said Éowyn, hanging her head.
"How could you not? You are a leader of your people, a symbol of the Mark's military prowess!"
"It is unfortunately only the first of those traits my Lord Théoden has chosen to lend significance. My lord the King will ride out to whatever future may come to him, and with the passing of his son, and Éomer still away, there is none save me to guide those who remain behind."
"Protecting our most vulnerable is also a noble duty," said Truva, attempting to approach the issue in a conciliatory manner, though she was sympathetic to Éowyn's reproachful look; for Éowyn was no more suited to politics than Truva herself.
Representing a pool of calm amidst the throng of Eorlingas, the two slowly descended the hill together when suddenly Éowyn cast about as if looking for someone. "That Man— the visitor," she said in a hushed voice.
"Do you mean Aragorn?" asked Truva.
"Yes, Aragorn. What do you know of him?"
"Very little, though I know he is son of Arathorn, called Elessar, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor – or so he declared himself to Éomer upon their meeting," said Truva. "He was better known unto these lands as Thorongil, who swore servitude to Thengel King."
"The Ranger of the North?"
"The very same," said Truva.
A thoughtful look crossed Éowyn's face. "And what of the jewel that hangs about his neck?"
Truva started in genuine confusion, for she had not observed the stranger close enough to perceive any such adornment. "What jewel?"
"Did you not see it in all the time you travelled together – a silver eagle clasping an emerald stone?" said Éowyn. "I wonder how he came by it."
"I cannot say," said Truva in honesty.
"Will you not ask?"
"Sorry?" said Truva.
"If I am to guide our refugees to safety in Dunharrow, rather than ride with you into battle, I will be deprived of the opportunity to inquire myself. Will you not ask, for my sake?"
"I will do what I can, though I cannot offer anything more," said Truva. "I fear he and I are far from fast companions, and the Ranger might not answer me straightforwardly."
"Even so, any answer you could possibly receive would surpass my own knowledge," said Éowyn.
"That is true," said Truva as they arrived at the fork in the path that led to the soldiers' accommodations. "Let us see what the morrow brings."
"Go now to your rest, new citizen of the Mark!" said Éowyn, embracing Truva, and in her heartfelt gratitude Truva scarcely struggled to return the gesture before departing down the path to her quarters.
As Truva entered her home alone, a brooding premonition prevailed. The night had been far from the contented, relaxing evening she had desired, for the looming disquiet suggested the events at the Fords of Isen – and all that had occurred since – were but the overture of a much larger, indiscernible narrative. Truva could only guess at what part she was to play, yet she concluded that even if all subsequent events were joyous in nature, it would still conclude an unhappy tale overall.
Feeling disheartened, Truva unpacked the gear from her rucksack and hung it up to air out, and she checked also to ensure that nothing was missing, and laid the blade Éomer had given her ceremoniously upon the chest at the foot of her bed. It was but the work of a moment, however, and soon she found herself languishing in a chair, staring at the impassive stars that lay beyond her window.
Truva suddenly felt as though the atmosphere in the room was close and suffocating, pressing in on her struggling lungs, and she was overcome by the need to escape. She stood and, upon searching in her cupboards, discovered a few carrots and an apple – withered as they were – and made her way to the stables. The night was pitch black and she could not see far, yet she knew precisely where Bron's stall was and had long been capable of finding it with her eyes closed; yet even if she was lost, Bron's snorts of joyous greeting would always lead her directly to him.
She fed him the first of the carrots, then picked up a brush and ran it down his back, at which he flicked his tail and stomped a hind leg to signal his contentment. Truva then moved to his mane and loosed the untidy braids, brushing his hair out until it flowed silkily through her fingers before beginning to rebraid his mane in the most intricate manner Éomód had taught her. Having done it so numerous times, she relied on muscle memory and had no need of sight.
As Truva worked, her mind wandered. She thought back to her very first encounter with the Eorlingas in the Hidlands, and how they had welcomed her with open arms and shown her unfamiliar kindness. Her heart swelled painfully in her chest with pride and gratitude upon recalling that she was now a true Eorlingas.
She thought back, too, upon the afternoon by the river that she had spent with Théodred discussing foul language, and the evening he had spent in his extensive explanation of the War of the Elves and Sauron, and of the time he had confessed his insecurities regarding his role as the son of a King. If only she could see him one last time, reassure him that few Eorlingas had ever served the Mark so nobly, speak to him of her own feelings—
Truva suddenly became aware of another sound aside from the shifting of the horses in their stalls; she could hear footsteps, however quiet, approaching the stable entrance. She reached for her knife and instantly regretted leaving it at home, for she had believed there could be no danger within the walls of Edoras. Though she had previously considered the city a haven, war was afoot, and a disgruntled King's advisor was still on the prowl.
Truva ducked out from Bron's stall just as a blacker shadow passed before her in the darkness. She dove for its legs and the figure fell crashing to the floor, yet it reacted far quicker than she had expected. Truva found herself tangled up in a web of limbs from which she quickly extracted herself, yet in leaping to gain a further advantage she found herself catapulting far further forward than intended. She managed to secure their ankle even so, yet as soon as she wrapped her fingers about it, a hand pinned her wrist to the ground and freed the trapped leg. Caught in a whirlwind of attack and defence, the struggle lasted mere moments before both Truva and the figure regained their footing, posed either to strike or defend.
"Is this how you greet your guests in this land?" a voice growled. It was not a voice Truva knew well, yet it was familiar to her nevertheless.
"Aragorn?" said Truva, the shock registering clearly in her voice.
"Truva?" he answered.
"Is this how you treat your hosts where you're from? Sneaking around in the dark to startle them? What is your purpose here?" she demanded, sounding rather more aggressive than she would have liked, for her heart raced still.
"The same purpose as yours, I would imagine," he said. Truva felt more than saw him walk toward Hasufel's stall, and marvelled at his awareness in the dark. He did not upset any of the numerous bins or precarious piles of supplies. He moved as naturally as though he walked in daylight.
After a moment of ruing her harsh words, Truva said to Aragorn, "Apples are Hasufel's favourite," and passed the single apple she had found to his dark shape in the hopes of conveying a wordless apology. Aragorn accepted the apple, though perhaps not the apology.
"Thank you," he said, but spoke no more. Truva hesitated before turning back to Bron and hastily finishing the braids in his mane, desperate to shed herself of the Man's presence. An uncomfortable tension lingered on the air, or perhaps Truva was the only one to feel so, yet it built until she could stand it no longer.
"I will just—" Truva trailed off as she retreated toward the entrance. Aragorn merely grunted in response, and Truva turned and fled back to her barracks.