Author's recommended listening: Conus, Violin Concerto in E minor
CHAPTER XI: ROAD TO HELM'S DEEP
The next morning was deceptively bright. The sun shone cheerfully and unperturbed from even the earliest hours of the day, oblivious to the heartrending plight of Mankind below. Light swept across the crisp white peaks of the mountains down to the undulating plains of grass that spread far off to the edge of the visible world. Everything throbbed with a living energy that wholly contradicted the mood that had settled over Edoras.
Soldiers – if they might be called such – had gathered in the night from nearby villages. Just beyond the city walls they had pitched tents, from which under the sun's rays early morning dew rose as steam, hovering mystically over the scene and bathing the new arrivals in a golden aura as they bustled about, preparing breakfast or checking their equipment for the umpteenth time.
Truva had not been able to sleep much during the night, and thus had risen early and watched these strangers trickle in, a slight stream of tiny fireflies in the grey dawn light. It was perched upon a rocky outcrop just below the east side of Meduseld's terrace, basking in the warmth of the sun, that Éofa found her as he went to hold morning conference with the King.
He said nothing as he sat beside her, merely tore the small loaf of bread he held in two and offered her the larger half. She accepted it absentmindedly, though she did not eat. Together they looked to the sun as it inched its way along its daily arc overhead. He let the warmth seep into his bones in a rare moment of peace before speaking.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"How do you suppose Éomer and the others have fared?" Truva asked, ignoring his question and turning to look searchingly into his light eyes.
"I reckon they have fared even better than either you or I," he replied, genuine optimism woven into his voice. "I have spent days locked up at Gríma's command, and you have romped all across the Mark with a cast of terribly interesting characters. Éomer, I suspect, is lazing about upon the Fords of victory, backed by a host of our finest fighters."
"I suppose you are right," sighed Truva. When a few drab sparrows approached hopefully, she tore at the loaf and distributed its crumbs slowly, watching the birds' brown and tan feathers flitter about. "And there is no more auspicious omen than our King returning unto himself; yet some misgiving nags at the edge of my consciousness."
"My own misgiving lies not at the fringes of the mind, but directly ahead," said Éofa. "War seems inescapable."
"War is inescapable, and worrying about it serves little purpose. No, I fear some other underlying current seems to be afoot," said Truva.
"Would it reassure you to listen in on the counsel we give the King this morn?" offered Éofa.
"I have no right to take part in such events."
"I believe you will find that to be a significant miscalculation on your part," Éofa kindly replied, though in seeing her conflicted look did not falter, he stood swiftly. "Come, I give you no choice; as your current superior officer, I order you to attend."
Truva's smile did not reach her face, but it blossomed in her heart as she stood and saluted. "As you command, my lord." She tossed the remaining bread to the birds and followed Éofa around to the front of the Hall, and when they entered they saw that many others had already gathered.
Off to one side, several of the King's advisors clustered, debating in hushed whispers. Gandalf sat upon a large chair, his eyes gazing off into nothingness and his pipe halfway to his mouth, as though he had intended to take a puff and wholly forgotten. Éowyn leaned silently against a pillar, deliberately looking anywhere save upon Aragorn, who stood before Gandalf, deep in conversation with Legolas and Gimli.
As Truva and Éofa moved further into the Hall, Truva's eyes met Aragorn's brief glance. Despite her extreme discomfort, Truva approached within a short distance and Aragorn turned from his conversation with the others. Before he could speak, Truva began, "With regard to last night, I am truly sorr—"
"It was wrong of me to have startled you," he said, interrupting her apology. "Walking about unannounced in a place that is home to others was inconsiderate."
"Edoras is home to all who are friends," replied Truva. "There is no need to stand upon ceremony here."
"Very well, then," said Aragorn, though if he wished to speak more he was prevented from doing so by the entrance of Théoden King, adorned in full riding gear. The King clasped his helm under his right arm, beneath his leather breastplate the glint of mail could be seen, and the clack of his boots reverberated throughout the hall. Truva felt her heart swell to behold her King looking as resplendent and as full of vigour as the first day she had seen him. She was further relieved when he failed to comment upon the impropriety of her presence.
All present gathered about a large banquet table as the King unfurled a map across it. "Long have we known that some evil brews in Mordor," he said, indicating the southeast area of the map, "And we shall have to face what awaits us there in due time; our current threat, however, emerges from Isengard. The information Éofa and Truva have returned with indicates that Saruman has amassed an imposing army of Orcs and Men and all manner of fell beasts, a combined strength that we have underestimated or been ignorant of for far too long.
"Not seven days has passed since our warriors confronted this force at the Fords of Isen. We emerged victorious – but only just. Éomer maintains our position at the Fords; it is my intention that we move immediately and directly to reinforce that position. From the Fords, we shall be able to reassess whether to mount an assault upon Isengard ourselves, or retreat to Hornburg and allow the fell waves of Isengard crash and break upon its battlements."
"I suspect the might of Saruman surpasses that of even your current reckoning," warned Gandalf. "It would not be unwise to make straight for Helm's Deep, pulling Éomer back simultaneously."
"I worry such action might leave Éomer too exposed, and for too long," said Éofa. "We sustained terrible losses at the Fords; were Éomer to withdraw now, Saruman would sense the full extent of our weakness and send forces to chase down our Riders even as they fell back – forces they would have to face without assistance. Is it not better to maintain our position and the illusion of strength until we can move as a single, unified army?"
"Éofa is right," said one of the King's advisors. "Time is crucial in this conflict, as is solidarity. It would be wisest to rejoin Éomer as quickly as possible. Erkenbrand defends the Hornburg as it is; we are not needed there so quickly."
"What of your people?" asked Aragorn. "Those that cannot fight?"
"Edoras is nigh on indefensible even when fully manned," said the King. "Our people must be evacuated to Dunharrow. They will be led by my sister-daughter, Éowyn." Those present glanced at Éowyn, who made a small, almost inaudible noise. Despite her unreadable exterior, it was easy for Truva to surmise the frustration that roiled beneath.
"Any objections?" asked the King, and those that felt the need to respond shook their heads no, though all were in agreeance. A few advisers sat contemplating the map, too lost in thought to react.
"Very well then," said the King. "I shall temporarily assume the role of Éomer Marshal and lead the King's Riders. Éofa, I place you in command of those forces that have gathered this night. Truva, you are second in command."
"My lord—?"
"My dear advisors, it is my wish that you should accompany Éowyn," said the King, interrupting Truva to speak with those who dealt in politic. "Allow those that will remain behind to say goodbye to their loved ones who go to fight, then immediately proceed with the relocation to Dunharrow.
"And finally, our guests: Gandalf, if you and your companions would deign to travel in my guard, it would do me a great honour."
"The honour would be ours," said Aragorn, bowing politely.
"I suppose this means more riding of those ridiculous creatures," grumbled Gimli as the group divided and went to their individual tasks.
"Well, this is the Riddermark, land of the horsemen..." Legolas' voice trailed off as the strange company exited Meduseld.
Truva stood transfixed for a moment, incapable of moving until Éofa's encouraging slap on her shoulder sent her lurching forward half a step. "See, your presence was not at all unwonted, as I predicted," he said.
"It is surely a temporary arrangement, until we rejoin forces with Éomer. It is a grave mistake to place in my hands responsibility for anything save myself, and even then it is unwise," said Truva.
"A temporary arrangement, perhaps, though I disagree that it is unwise," said Éofa. "Even so, it is the will of Théoden King. Would you question his judgement, or defy him?"
"Never!" said Truva, bristling at the idea. Éofa merely laughed.
"Gather your things and mount up. Let us reconvene before the main gate as soon as you are ready."
Truva dashed to her accommodations, collected only her most necessary belongings, then raced to the stables where Bron greeted her. "Sorry, no snacks again today," she said in heartfelt apology as she fumbled with his saddleblanket. He seemed to sense her urgency, however, and allowed her to tack up without his typical mischief; there was no big lungful of air to cause her saddle to slip, or playful nibbling at the bridle straps.
Thanks to Bron's obliging manner, it was only a few minutes that lapsed ere Truva was riding down the hill toward the temporary encampment, which had been replaced by a melee of villagers preparing for their imminent departure. Truva could see Éofa just beyond the gates, talking in earnest with Aragorn and Éowyn. Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her calling.
"Truva! Truva!" She turned to observe Héodis flying down the hill, skirt billowing out behind her and a familiar letter raised in her hand. Truva turned Bron about and returned back up the hill, meeting Héodis halfway.
"Did you honestly think you could go off without saying goodbye?" Héodis accused her.
"Quite frankly, I had intended on returning with such expeditiousness that you would not notice my absence in the first place," said Truva.
"Oh, do not speak with such flippancy! Who knows what is to come. Here," said Héodis, folding a letter into Truva's hand. "Our last communion – for now. It is from Fulmod and I, for Éomód will be travelling with you. Oh, do take care of him, Truva, please! He knows nothing of war and fighting."
"I will protect him with my entire being," Truva promised, taking the letter and tucking it beneath her leather jerkin, hoping Héodis could not detect the trepidation in her voice. Héodis then returned back up the hill, and Truva down it, where the trio beyond the gates sat observing her.
Éowyn left the company of Éofa and Aragorn and reentered the gates, approaching Truva. "I have a similar request," she said in a low voice when she grew near. Unnerved by the seriousness of Éowyn's tone, Truva dismounted.
"Whatever is wrong?"
"He may have significantly more skill in combat than Éomód," said Éowyn, indicating with subtle body gestures the Ranger some distance off, "Yet those who seem most prepared are often overlooked in their rare time of need."
"Of all the help I might be able to offer, I do not think there is any way in which I can assist that Man," said Truva. She surreptitiously glanced over Éowyn's shoulder to where Aragorn stood, only to catch his eyes flitting away.
"Even were I to believe your words true, which I do not, please spare the slightest corner of your heart to watch over him," begged Éowyn.
Truva inhaled a deep, rattling breath, held it for some time, then released it sharply, willing herself not to shed tears yet again, before saying, "Théodred died because I could not protect him."
Éowyn reached out and took Truva's hand in her own, clasping it tightly. "Théodred died because he would not see the Mark fall into the hands of evil; he did what had to be done, as did you. At the Fords, you protected not the single life of Théodred, but that of all our people."
Truva did not reply. She could not comprehend how Éowyn's request differed, how she might prevent Aragorn from making the same sacrifice as Théodred, how her skills – proven to be inadequate as they had been – would suddenly become sufficient to protect such a grand figure; yet Truva was loth to reveal such concerns to Éowyn and thus subject the Eorlingas maiden to similar worry.
"Please," said Éowyn breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with the hint of tears, "For me."
Truva withdrew her hands from Éowyn's grasp, taking the maiden's hands in her own and placing them upon her heart.
"I promise." Truva felt the trembling in Éowyn's hands as she released them, and knew they shook both out of distress as well as anger at being left behind. There was nothing Truva could do, however, no words she could say that would assuage the shieldmaiden's consternation, and so she turned to Bron and mounted back up, riding through the gates to join the others. When she glanced back – just once – Éowyn stood by the side of the path, tall and regal with her golden hair blown about by the wind, a commanding figure of stern authority and a true sovereign to her people, yet tinged with heartbreaking despondency.
"So kind of you to join us," said Éofa when Truva at last rode up. "What was it that Éowyn said to you?"
"Parting words," said Truva simply. "I do not understand why she is not to come with us. She is a fierce warrior; it is to our detriment that her skills be wasted thus."
"Fierce warrior that she is, she is also a born leader," replied Éofa, "And those that remain behind might yet need the protection of her sword."
Though she hoped such occasion might never arise, Truva nodded in halfhearted agreement before turning to survey the scene before her, watching the amusing figures of Legolas and Gimli upon Arod as they picked their way through numerous Marksmen who scrambled to pack belongings and soothe skittish horses. She saw also Éomód briefly raising an arm in greeting, and returned the gesture.
The entire company seemed to be milling about in disarray, though order suddenly emerged from the chaos and two groups formed. To the northwest stood what few remaining Eorlingas soldiers remained in Edoras. To the southeast, those who had been mustered from the surrounding areas, their ranks swollen with the ordinary citizens of the city, struggled to form uneven lines. All together they amounted to a paltry force, one woefully unequipped, and Truva looked upon them in dismay.
When all Riders had assembled as best as possible, the figure of King Théoden could be seen making his way from Meduseld upon his horse Snowmane, the golden gleam of his armour striking against his white hair and horse. Behind the King's magnificent presence rode Gandalf, who would have been inconspicuous in his drab robes were he not astride Shadowfax, who bore the Wizard as gloriously as if he, too, were a king.
Théoden King halted directly beneath the main gate, taking in all the ranks arrayed before him, who in return observed their leader with hesitant anticipation. The King then pulled a few steps forward and raised his voice to address his army:
"I will be brief, for well you all know the purpose to which we have gathered here. This day has been long in coming, though it has at long last arrived. For many years we have dealt as best we could with unceasing threats from the west, yet Saruman now seeks the utter destruction of our livelihood, of our people, and of our lands. Let us ride now to the Fords of Isen, and boldly face the fate that awaits us beyond! Ride forth now for the Mark!"
He let loose a chilling cry, and it was taken up by all before him; though the shouts had not even begun to die down ere Théoden took his place at the head of the army and led the foremost ranks toward the Great Road. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, Gandalf, and the King's own personal guard rode to accompany him at the head of the column, but Éofa motioned for Truva to veer toward the rear.
"Come, we are to lead the second unit," he said, and they fell in between the ranks of Eorlingas warriors ahead and the civilian forces behind. As the Riders in front gradually peeled out toward the northwest along the Great Road, the troops behind fanned out, strung along like a gloomy parade tapering off far into the distance. It was not an impressive force, and yet a subdued sense of pride swelled slightly in Truva's chest, dampened only by the knowledge of their destination.
The day passed uneventfully as they marched at a brisk but manageable pace. Truva knew Théoden King was desperate to reach Éomer and Elfhelm's forces at the Fords, yet was also cautious of exhausting the fighters he led, particularly the civilian troops. Truva similarly longed to confirm her friends' safety, and found her frustration at their slowness of pace difficult to conceal.
The army set up camp that night in a slight dip in the grasslands, bordered on the southern side by a slight cliff that fell away to a tributary of the river Snowbourn, and almost entirely hidden by great boulders and grass far taller than the dwarf Gimli on all others. Men jumped quickly to their assigned duties, caring for their mounts and setting what fires they dared in preparation for the evening meal.
It felt to Truva as though multiple days had passed since they set out that morning. She sat frowning at her own secretive fire, Bron contentedly munching on the flora behind her, and her mind feeling overwhelmed and yet void at the same time. Concerns over her friends that lay both before and behind, of the inescapability of approaching events, of the unpractised civilian fighters in her care, of the strangers that perhaps weren't so strange after all— Truva simply could not grasp any single thought and focus on it before it slipped through the loosely woven nets of her mind.
She remembered then the letter that Héodis had given her, and was just beginning to pull it from beneath her jerkin when she heard a rustle in the grass to her right, where she perceived Aragorn's approaching figure through the darkness, and quickly replaced the letter. When he reached the weak ring of light thrown by Truva's fire, the Ranger thrust an arm toward her.
"You have not eaten," he said. It was not a question, though neither was it a statement, and so Truva felt compelled to accept the small bundle he offered. She found Aragorn's way of speaking inscrutable, and indeed his entire personage wholly incomprehensible; nevertheless, she applied herself to the slightly squashed bread and roasted rabbit Aragorn had procured.
He sat down beside her and began to eat as well. Truva waited for him to speak, assuming he had come for some purpose, though he seemed disinclined to say anything. Truva shifted uncomfortably several times before realising the task of breaking the silence fell upon her.
"What of Legolas and Gimli?" she said, mouth half full primarily to conceal her discomfort, but also because she was surprisingly ravenous. Aragorn simply pointed to some spot off in the distance, beyond the other riders similarly situated in their mealtime, and continued to eat. Uneasy silence reigned again, though to Truva's surprise it was Aragorn this time who broke it:
"How is it that you knew the name Thorongil." It was a question, and yet not. Truva struggled with how to respond, though she ultimately decided it was best to humour him.
"My education on matters of history was quite extensive, and G— my teacher found the mysterious figure who served Thengel King most intriguing," said Truva, hastily replacing Gríma's name with his general title; she did not wish to think of him or his betrayal. "Though we had no definite knowledge of your background, rumours that you were a Ranger come from the north, one of the lingering Dúnedain, had long surrounded tales of your valour.
"Many have forgotten the tales, yet my teacher had not," she continued. "For a man to appear from the north, of similar appearance and approximate age, in the company of such strange fellows – it could be no other."
"And this education gives you the ear of the King."
"Hardly!" said Truva. "It is no more than desperate circumstances that have brought about such arrangements." Aragorn once more fell silent, and Truva cast about for another, more engaging topic.
Her eyes caught sight of a glint at Aragorn's sternum, a piece of silver finery half hidden by his tunic and strange Elven cloak, reflecting the firelight and yet seeming to be a source of light in and of itself. It contrasted so strangely with the simplicity of Aragorn's other attire, and while Truva did not wish to stare, she simultaneously found herself unable to look away, drawn deeply into the calm that emanated from it.
When Aragorn leaned in to stoke the dying fire, the jewel swung forward and Truva could see swathed in the wings of an eagle a gem, the colour of which was such an entrancing emerald that it appeared in her eyes to be a haven of greenery, a forest unreachable from the outside world. Éowyn's words came flooding back to Truva's mind, for surely this must be the jewel she had spoken of.
"Your necklace—" Truva began, though she stopped short when Aragorn froze; yet Éowyn's request lay heavy in her mind, and she felt a great sense of obligation to her friend. "How did you come by it?"
Quite some time passed before the Dúnadan spoke. "It is the Stone of Eärendil, or Elessar. It was given to me."
"By whom? A woman?" Truva pried, for though she had not said so much, Truva had understood Éowyn's interest in the jewel to be a reflection of her interest in the man himself; were the necklace a lover's token, however, Éowyn's hopes would be dashed.
"You could say so," Aragorn replied cryptically, taking a tone that discouraged any further questions. In the silence that followed, Truva began to wonder whether the topic was making the Ranger especially taciturn, or if he had simply always been so reserved. Perhaps her own quiet nature had blinded her to Aragorn's extreme reticence.
When he finished eating, Aragorn stood and stalked off without a word, leaving Truva to finish her meal, swamped in bewilderment. Even as she curled up to sleep as much as possible before her miserable, two-hours-past-midnight watch, she still pondered the curiosity of his behaviour.
Truva's watch passed uneventfully albeit wretchedly in the chill night air, and she was able to catch an additional brief nap before the day started in earnest. It was not long after she woke, as the camp bustled quietly with hurried breakfasts and tacking up, when the subdued calm of early dawn was broken by desperate shouts that flew up from the soldiers camped in the northern area.
Immediately set upon edge, panic flooded through Truva as she drew her sword and mounted up onto Bron. He deftly wove his way northward through the chaos until Truva noticed a strange sound also arising from behind them: a familiar snarl that had become ingrained into her mind ever since the battle at the Fords.
She turned, dread dragging the pit of her stomach down to her feet, only to see a massive, revolting Warg steal out from behind a boulder just beyond the southern edge of camp, near the river. Its Orc rider was tiny, yet the sounds he made sent jarring chills skittering across Truva's skin.
Bron immediately sprung unprompted over the heads of the other Eorlingas who still fumbled with their gear or – in the case of several civilians – stared agape at this unexpected threat. Bron covered the distance in only a few bounds, leaping agilely to avoid the snapping jaws of the Warg and bringing Truva within striking distance of its rider. She slashed at the Orc, barely catching him on the arm where his armour deflected the worst of the damage, before managing a backward swing that sliced the Warg open behind the ear. It let out a roar that deafened her.
Bron circled around tightly to give Truva a second run, though the writhing motions of the Warg made it almost impossible to hit any significant target. Truva nicked it in the chest but failed to inflict any damage. As Bron circled about yet again, a spear appeared as if out of nowhere, sprouting from under the Warg's jaw through the back of its head. The creature collapsed instantaneously, and Truva took the opportunity to dispatch its rider as well. Turning, she saw Éomód standing aghast at his own action, and in that moment a great deal of Truva's anxiety over his wellbeing was dispelled.
"Well done!" she cried to Éomód, though her peripheral vision warned that their task was far from complete. Truva pulled the spear from the carcass of the Warg and returned it to Éomód, shouting to all that could hear as she did so: "Mount up if you have a horse, fall into formation if not!"
Three additional Wargs and their riders appeared over the crest of a hill then, approaching at a breakneck pace, and a similar commotion from all about the rest of camp suggested that many others were closing in. Truva drew her bow and fixed the foremost creature in her sight, and by some fortuitous stroke of luck it was directly into the left eye that her shaft burrowed, sending the beast tumbling forward. Undaunted, its rider disentangled himself and leapt up behind his comrade onto a following Warg.
The creature and its two riders bore down upon Truva, followed closely by the third. Truva loosed two more volleys, yet she failed to inflict any significant damage as they continued to gain on her, so Truva set aside her bow and drew her blade. Even as she did so, the third rider veered off toward a cluster of terrified civilians, their swords clutched in trembling hands.
"Ah, son of Eorl, I will regret this," Truva muttered to herself as she pulled her dagger from her belt and heaved it with all of her might in the direction of the single rider, who toppled forward with the blade stuck in his spine. Truva had no time to target his mount, however, for immediately the Warg with two riders was upon her, and she found herself frantically batting away their lowered spears in defence, with no opportunity for counterattack.
Just then, Éofa sprang from behind to Truva's aid – having already rescued the circle of civilians – and sliced the Warg along its flank as he rushed past. Upon a second attack, Truva succeeded in catching the first rider beneath the arm with her blade, and shoved the second off again with a well-placed boot to the chest; yet he caught her foot, and Truva found herself sliding off Bron alongside the Orc. Twisting her body, she managed to land atop her reeking enemy and used the butt of her sword to render him unconscious, then rose and drove her blade down through his chest to ensure he would never rise again.
Hearing a startled whinny behind her, Truva immediately whirled around, only to drive her blade deep into the throat of a Warg that was rushing up on Bron. Her arm was grazed by the claws of the beast in its death throes, though the wound was not deep, and she laid a food upon its mangy fur as she attempted to withdraw her sword, but it would not give. As she struggled, the downed Warg's rider extricated himself from beneath his mount and lunged toward Truva.
Weaponless, she was forced to dodge the Orc's wild swings, yet upon the third pass she positioned herself to dart in close and attack his hamstring with a low kick. The Orc fell to one knee, and in one continuous motion Truva cleared his blade and sent her other leg straight toward his jaw. Taking advantage of her opponent's dazed state, she snapped his own weapon from his hands and drew it across his throat.
"I knew I was going to regret throwing that dagger," Truva muttered to herself as she bent once more to withdrawing her sword from the Warg, succeeding this time. "What did Éomer teach me? Never let go of your weapon; never, never."
Looking about, Truva saw Éofa struggling with a new pack of Wargs and dashed to return the favour of aid, calling to her the others that continued to mill about, unsure of themselves. In her mission to defend the Eorlingas, Truva worked at times to draw soldiers into formation, plunging into the fray unaided at others, yet always she rode a wave of desperation that swallowed everything that dared attempt to dam it.
She fought with blind rashness, and it was thus unwittingly that the tip of her blade fell suddenly unopposed upon the grass at her side. Slowly returning to her senses, Truva raised her head and took in the destruction that had been wrought. The grassland that had been their camp the night before was now awash in a confusion of slain bodies, human and animal, of the Mark and of Isengard, of supplies and tents and banners and all manner of paraphernalia.
Truva's eyes immediately cast about the scene, searching for Éomód. Spotting him sitting with his back leaning against a dead Warg, she flew to his side and felt about for injuries, almost collapsing in relief when she discovered him to be entirely unharmed, albeit exhausted. It was also to great elation that she spied her dagger hilt protruding from an Orc carcass just beside her friend, and she wiped it upon the grass before sheathing it once more.
Next Truva sought out Éofa, who was tending to those who were wounded. Truva assisted her captain as he made his way through camp, performing the ugly task of triage and doing all he could for those in need of medical help. It was when they passed from one man whose gashed leg they secured with a tourniquet to another whose arm appeared broken that a subtle notion urged Truva to look about her. She was not quite sure for what she was searching as she held the splinters of a spear in place so that Éofa might wind makeshift bandages to brace the man's shattered arm, yet slowly she came to suspect that what she was looking for could not be found.
"Aragorn!" came Gimli's anguished cry from across the battleground. Truva realised in an instant that it was the Ranger her subconscious had noticed the absence of. She helped Éofa tie off the bandages on the man's arm, then stalked over to the Dwarf who was crouched with Théoden King over the body of a dying Orc, interrogating the creature. She arrived just as the Orc pointed toward the cliff and the river beyond.
Truva looked to the King, who glanced at the cliff momentarily before sweeping his gaze over the carnage sprawled out before them. He did not hesitate before he said, "We are in danger here. There may be more riders behind these, and their presence in the first place means our men at the Fords have surely fallen. We must make our way to Hornburg immediately and hope that Éomer and Elfhelm have the foresight to do likewise."
Théoden King turned then and raised his voice for all to hear. "Fall into formation as best you can! Carry only what you need for battle! We must gain the safety of Hornburg before nightfall." He paused fleetingly before adding, "Leave the dead."
"My Lord," said Truva quietly.
"No," Théoden King replied, forbidding her unspoken request. "Our men need leaders, now more than ever. There is no purpose in chasing ghosts."
"Such a fall would not be impossible to survive," she said as she glanced over the edge of the cliff. "The tributary is deep here, and well I know this area – the recruits ran training missions often along these foothills. I will waste no time, and shall abandon the search as soon as I deem it fruitless."
The King appeared to reconsider upon hearing her words, so she urged, "Missing is not dead, my lord."
After great deliberation, the King made up his mind. "Very well, but search only as long as you have reasonable hope," he said quietly, then with a quick glance at the Dwarf and Elf, he added, "And go secretly, for there are those whose further absence we cannot afford, though they would certainly abandon our cause for the sake of their companion. The fate of Lord Aragorn is inauspicious, yet that of our people is not – at least, not yet. We can spare no soldier."
"I shall return with two," said Truva, and thus it was as the rest of the company reconvened and resumed its progress towards Helm's Deep once more that Truva bundled up a meagre collection of medical supplies and set off in the opposite direction, downstream along the tributary toward Snowbourn. There would be no avoiding the river having fallen from the cliff, Truva rationalised, and she was certain there would be tracks had Aragorn managed to pull himself from its waters.
Bron clipped along at a pace slightly faster than the river as Truva scanned the banks, hoping Aragorn would have sense enough to exit on the north side and leave signs easier for her to see than those on the far bank. As the morning wore on to midday, it was purely Bron's loyalty that prevented his pace from lagging, for Truva could tell he grew fatigued, and she hoped that the urgency of their situation was somehow conveyed to her companion.
Midday turned to afternoon, which in turn transformed into early evening. The beauty of orange dusk tinging the eastward sky was lost on Truva, for her eyes never left the river; she persisted even as the light grew dim and she struggled to discern potential signals. Whip-poor-wills sang and danced in their nightly feast of bugs, yet she paid them little mind.
Truva's feelings of disheartenment became increasingly challenging to ignore, however, as did her sympathy for Bron. She dismounted and allowed him to trail behind and drink from the river as she continued halfheartedly on foot. She proceeded in this way for another hour or so, until the blackness of the sky was impenetrable and she could see nothing in the darkness; and having found not one single indication that the Ranger lived, Truva could not help but despair. She slowed her pace and allowed Bron to catch up, deciding at long last that it was time to rejoin the Eorlingas.
Bron trotted toward Truva, then continued right on past her.
"Bron!" she called out. "Where in Helm's name are you off to?" She jogged after the horse, only to watch him wade into the river and shake his muzzle out into the distance. Truva waded in after him and laid a hand on his haunch, following his line of sight, wholly bemused.
Her confusion was instantly cleared, however, for there, not far from the opposite shore, was the body of Aragorn, partially submerged and caught upon a shoal. Truva did not hesitate to thrash through the shallows and dive into the deeper waters of the river, swimming to the shoal. Éomer's training had made her a competent swimmer, albeit not a strong one, and she struggled to reach Aragorn.
When Truva pulled herself upon the shoal, she flipped his facedown form over and bent her ear before his mouth, attempting to glean any sign of breathing, but she could not be sure, for if he was she could neither feel nor hear it. Truva panicked and reached for his neck to check for a pulse. Immense relief washed over her when she discerned the faintest beat of a heart, causing her to almost cry in her exhaustion.
She pulled Aragorn onto her chest and floated on her back, launching herself into the river and allowing it to bear them downstream a ways as she guided them back toward the other bank. Bron followed her progress and stood patiently as Truva checked the Ranger for injuries and, finding minor cuts and a great deal of fresh bruising but nothing immediately life-threatening, struggled to load his limp figure into the saddle.
"This— would— be— so— much— easier— if— you— were— conscious!" Truva said, giving Aragorn a hearty shove with each word, only for him to fall over the other side of Bron in the end. Truva heaved a deep sigh and started again, Bron standing as still as a virtuous statue.
When at great last Truva succeeded in propping Aragorn up in the saddle, she promptly leapt up behind as to prevent him from falling again. Yet from that vantage point, an ever so faint gleam caught her eye, and when she looked closer she saw trapped amongst some reeds an emerald swathed in silver wings – the jewel Aragorn wore about his neck.
Truva dismounted once again, careful to balance Aragorn in the saddle so that he would not fall, and returned to the sandy bank. The chain waved gently in the waters of the river as she approached, and it was with great care that Truva extricated the precious cargo from the reeds and placed it in her pocket before mounting up again. She had scarcely settled back into the saddle before Bron took off like lightning, as though he hadn't spent the morning in battle or all the time since exerting himself to his limit.
They made great haste through the night as they travelled back along the river toward the foothills of the White Mountains and Helm's Deep. They soon regained the Great Road, along which Bron coursed, though Truva could feel him straining beneath her, surefooted even in the dark.
"Just get us to Hornburg, love, and you can rest there," she urged.
Dawn was just beginning to steal its pale fingers across the eastern sky when Truva thought she heard Aragorn whisper something. She reigned Bron in and shifted so that she could see Aragorn's face. His eyes fluttered weakly and his mouth formed words, yet Truva still failed to properly catch what it was he said. She drew her ear even closer to Aragorn's lips:
"—Orcs," he said, not even a whisper. Truva drew back stared at him in shock, then she noticed the hand that dangled at his side, struggling to point northeastward, and she saw it: far out in the distance was a black haze that clung to the horizon, hardly even a smudge, yet an even greater cloud of brown dust thrown up behind the blackness was illuminated in the early morning sun. An entire army of the enemy was bearing down upon Hornburg.
Truva gave a great "Hya!" to spur Bron on, though he was already streaking across the grasslands at a pace she had never known he could match. From dawn and throughout the day they raced against the great mass of darkness that seemed to expand as they approached closer. The larger it grew, the more the panic in Truva's chest swelled. She stopped only to tend Aragorn, for Bron obstinately refused all care and snorted impatiently each time he felt their progress was not swift enough.
They were no more than three leagues from Helm's Deep when the sun threatened dusk. Truva held her arm outstretched, her hand between the sun and horizon – now a span of less than three fingers. They would have to rush if they hoped to make it to Hornburg before dark. As Bron continued his breakneck pace, Truva scanned the land once more for the army of Orcs – close enough now that she could distinguish individuals, the sound of their clanking armour and weaponry carrying across the plains.
A new sight also came into view: before the massive army, small clusters of men – dressed in a way that marked them as Eorlingas – streaked across the plains. Peering closer, Truva could see all manner of figures, some alone, some in pairs or groups, man and Orc alike, chasing and being chased. Chaos reigned in the foothills about the entrance to Helm's Deep.
"These men must be the remnants of Éomer's forces at the Fords!" gasped Truva, though Aragorn merely groaned in reply. They raced across the remaining distance and threaded their way across the great rift that Truva knew from the maps she had seen to be Helm's Dike. She swiftly slew a handful of pursuing Orcs that hounded a trio of Eorlingas, then joined the three as they approached the entrance to Hornburg. Truva searched for familiar faces but the fighters were only passing acquaintances.
The Hornburg loomed before them, even more impressive in its proximity than when Truva had observed it from a distance. There was little time to take in the sight, however; the Eorlingas raced up the causeway as the blast of a horn greeted them. The gate was ordered open, and the guards allowed only the tiniest of gaps for Truva, Aragorn, and the others to slip through.