Author's recommended listening: Tchaikovsky, Serenade for Strings
CHAPTER XIII: ISENGARD
From the furthest depths of the keep to the rocky protrusions of the gorge, swarms of Eorlingas poured forth, milling about in a chaotic dance, unsure of how to proceed. Some herded together the Dunlendings who had laid down their arms, others collected the bodies and equipment of their enemies to be burnt, while yet others wandered about with neither point nor purpose, content merely to be uplifted and carried away by the hum of activity.
Truva occupied herself with a chain of Eorlingas who were transferring corpses from the Deeping Wall to the grassy field below, ever cautious of the looming, mysterious forest from which emanated a foreboding shadow. Beside her worked Éofa, as well as the Elf and Dwarf, the latter of whom was quite content with his tally in the previous night's battle.
"Forty-two!" he exclaimed with unbridled pride before turning to his companion. "How is it with you?"
"Alas, you have passed my score by one!" said Legolas.
"What is this?" asked Éofa. "What score?"
"Notches in your spear, my lad!" said Gimli.
"Alas, but I was overly focused on my own survival to consider such things!" said Éofa.
Legolas worked in silence a moment before leaning past Gimli and speaking directly to Truva. "And you, shieldmaiden?"
Truva paused, for however hesitant she was to forgive the Dwarf – whose involvement in her persecution had been limited, and who had, after all, saved her life – she was even less sure of the Elf, who had been terribly determined to characterise her as a spy. All lore Truva had ever heard, however, suggested that despite the poeticism of the Elven word, it was their actions that spoke more articulately, and in so much as addressing her the Elf was attempting reconciliation.
"You best me both," Truva ultimately admitted. "My number does not surpass thirty-seven, though I did not begin my count until I encountered the Dwarf upon the Deeping Wall."
"Was it from that point you started?" said Gimli, aghast.
"If that be true, it would be unsurprising if you surpassed both our counts," said Legolas.
"Still, a number is a number, and as such, I accept my defeat," said Truva.
"Exactly so, a number is a number!" cried Gimli, "A defeat humbly accepted!"
"Though it would be a great honour to engage in competition once more if ever the opportunity were to arise," said Truva as she accepted a particularly mangled corpse from the Dwarf.
"And so it is settled," said Legolas. "May fortune ever smile upon us and deny us occasion for such competition in the future."
"Yet if the need arises," Gimli amended, "You both shall fall again into my shadow!"
As the day wore on, sweltering, smoky fires were sent skyward as the Eorlingas' efforts cleared the grounds; the wounded were borne to the infirmary and all prisoners contained. Come to survey the progress was a small group of the King and his Marshals, accompanied by the Wizard Gandalf, and they muttered in conference not far from where Truva laboured alongside her companions. She eavesdropped surreptitiously as the leaders discussed how best to proceed in the wake of the battle, and what they might do to mitigate the effects that were sure to come.
"To Isengard?" Truva heard Théoden King exclaim at one point.
"Yes," replied Gandalf, "I shall return to Isengard, and those who will may come with me."
"But there are not enough men in the Mark," said Éomer, sweeping his gaze over the recovery effort led by his exhausted men.
"Nevertheless to Isengard I go," said Gandalf. "Look for me in Edoras, before the waning of the moon!"
"No!" said the King. "I will come with you now, if that is your counsel."
"How soon and how swiftly will you ride?" the Wizard asked.
"Our men are weary with battle," said Erkenbrand Marshal.
"Then let all who are to ride with me rest now," said the Wizard. "We will journey under the shadow of evening. But do not command many men to go with you, Théoden. We go to a parley, not to a fight."
"Very well," said Théoden King, who then drew Éomer close for separate counsel.
"But what of the Dunlendings, my lord?" Éomer asked. "Our men are overextended as is. We cannot possibly sacrifice more men, leaving our enemies under the watch of such a weak guard."
Hearing this, Truva extricated herself from the line of workers. "If I may," she began, slipping into the pause of conversation between the King and Éomer.
"Yes, what is it, my courageous soldier?" Théoden King asked kindly.
"The Dunlending fighters surrendered peacefully," said Truva, "And I have heard that the voice of Isengard, the Wizard Saruman, speaks like honey, his words dripping with enticement only to catch the unsuspecting fly."
"I have also heard it said thus," said Éomer, "But to what purpose do you mention such things to our King?"
"Long ago was it that our people forced the Dunlendings from their native lands to a less plentiful, harsh existence. Is it not possible that Saruman exploited their resentment, and that the Dunlendings were misled by his deceptive words; for in their determination to provide for their people, the Dunlendings were tricked into unwittingly serving the devices of the Wizard?"
Both Éomer and Théoden King paused a moment to consider Truva's words. It was not in the character of Eorlingas to feel sympathy toward Dunlendings, as the history between them fraught with disagreement and violence, and great vengeance had been exacted on both sides, yet Truva's perceptive words invited the Marshal and King to view the longstanding conflict in a new light.
"It is true that their motivation could possibly have been reasons manipulated by Saruman, yet ultimately they took up arms against us and slew our kind," said Théoden King.
"And we likewise slew their kind," Truva reasoned. "I do not mean to suggest you forgive them wholly, only that they be treated with some modicum of understanding."
A silence fell between the three as the King thought deeply before speaking again. "I acknowledge the points you have made. What, then, would you counsel me do with the Dunlending prisoners?"
"First, I would make our sympathies apparent," Truva advised, for a quick glance at the quivering Dunlendings hinted that a single kind word might have a significantly larger impact than the King believed. "Then, recruit their help in the rebuilding of Hornburg; for I wonder whether they might appreciate the chance to make recompense, rather than await their fate in confinement."
Théoden King's expression appeared dubious ere the consternation between his brows cleared. "I know not whether your assumptions be right, yet it is the way of the Mark to afford our enemies forgiveness. I do not suppose it is unimaginable that these men were bewitched by the misleading word of Saruman, and having fallen prey to the Wizard myself, it would be unjust of me to refuse them an opportunity to redeem themselves.
"Let these Dunlending men take the place of those Eorlingas accompanying myself and Gandalf to Isengard," said the King to Erkenbrand, who continued to linger nearby, and the Marshal lept at once to organise his captains in unfettering the astonished Dunlending men as Théoden continued, "Guide them in the rectification of the destruction they have wrought, and we shall see whether they are worthy of mercy."
Hearing this declaration, the men of Dunland stood agape; they had been certain their fate at the hands of the Eorlingas would be death, for Saruman had told it so. They had not anticipated that the Wizard's words would be so full of falsehoods or that the horselords would be forgiving people, cognizant of their own wrongdoing against those they had forced to take up residence in the Dunlands. It was thus with vigour that the freed prisoners took up the task at hand, availing the Riders to a touch of well-earned rest.
"It was quite brazen, the way in which you spoke to Théoden King," remarked Éofa as they were relieved of their duties, several of the Dunlending men taking broken debris directly from their hands.
"I know not what came over me," replied Truva.
"It is good to see you speak with such passion – last night, as well, though the circumstances were not wholly auspicious," said Éofa, and though the memory of that confrontation caused Truva's stomach to plummet, she appreciated her friend's support nevertheless.
Together the duo stumbled over to Éomer, who still stood upon the field although the other leaders had already departed, and the three Eorlingas supported each other as they made their way back to the fortress of Hornburg, followed at some distance by Legolas and Gimli. The conflict had been a long and weary one, absent of any respite, and the Eorlingas warriors were drunk on exhaustion.
"I am so glad you are alive, my captain, my Marshal," said Truva, laying upon Éomer's back a few feeble pats. It was a surprisingly affectionate gesture for her, though perhaps she was finally coming to understand why the Eorlingas so readily expressed their sentiments through touch; words were at times entirely insufficient, especially for one so reserved as she.
"Likewise," said Eomer, responding by giving Truva's shoulders an equally feeble squeeze.
"I thought we had lost you when the Wall was breached," she said.
"I thought each one of us had been lost," remarked Éofa in an unusual show of melancholic honesty, though it relieved him to see a wan smile stretch at the corner of his companions' mouths.
"No," said Éomer, "I found myself in the caves, alongside the Dwarf and a great many others, all of whom fought bravely. I do believe the Dwarf rather enjoyed it; peculiar individual, that one."
As they walked, the Marshal looked with pride upon his peculiar charge. He suspected that Truva, more so than any other Eorlingas, had been the one to exert herself beyond all measure that night – beyond even the most decorated of leaders – for though she did not say so, he was certain she felt the need to prove false the claims that had been made against her.
When the trio reached the causeway and picked their way through the debris that was still littered about the main gate, Truva eyed the Deeping-stream longingly. She wished for nothing more than a refreshing wash in its once chilly, crystalline waters, but the fallout of the battle had left the stream churning unappealingly upon its muddy banks, streaked with the blood of friend and foe alike.
Truva was suddenly reminded of the picnic she had shared with Théodred and the others, and how pure the waters of the Snowbourn had been that spring. The memory dug painfully into her heart, causing her breath to come short and sharp. She turned quickly from the stream.
As the companions approached the keep, they were greeted by a detail of guards, two of whom stepped forward. "We are ordered by the King to provide individual accommodations for those who will accompany him to Isengard," spoke the foremost guard before falling back into formation with his companion. They marched off smartly, checking but once to see whether Truva, Éomer, and Éofa followed.
The guards led them not in the direction of the lower barracks, but instead toward the great Hall and infirmary. From behind the Hall ascended a narrow staircase which switchbacked up the face of the Thrihyrne before cutting into the rock itself. Up, up beyond the heights of the Burg they were led, turning at last into an interior passageway, off of which jutted a series of secluded accommodations.
Éomer was shown first to his rooms, then Éofa, and after Truva bid them an exhausted farewell, she too was shown to her own just a short distance down the hall. As soon as she pushed the woven mat of reeds that marked the entrance aside, the guards saluted and disappeared without a word further. It was in the very moment they turned the corner that Legolas and Gimli appeared, guided by an additional pair of guards, and Truva rushed to enter the room so that she might avoid speaking with them.
When the mat fell into place behind her, Truva was plunged into darkness. Unfamiliar with the layout of Hornburg, she felt her way forward unseeing, though once her eyes had adjusted she found herself in a small antechamber, discernible by a soft wash of light that emanated from the curtain of a second entryway. Truva ducked past its heavy linen fabric only to discover surprisingly cosy, inviting lodgings beyond. There was no denying her housing in Edoras was comfortable, yet somehow the enveloping rock of Thrihyrne lent an exceptional sense of security.
There was an opening on the northwest side of the room that overlooked the entirety of the Hornburg and its encompassing Deep far below, allowing Truva to observe all movement within the Coomb. Set before the opening was a table, spread with food the quality of which Truva had only ever witnessed at feasts. Cheese and meat and mushrooms lay on platters, accompanied by bread, the freshness of which Truva could determine by the steam that still wafted from it. Milk also sat in a pitcher, collecting condensation.
Truva wondered at this delectable display, for she had been led to believe that supplies in the Hornburg were considerably depleted, yet in turning to look behind her she spied something far more captivating than anything edible: a bath. Deep within a hollow of the stone wall had been carved a low basin, and it sat filled to the brim with aromatic water which sent steam wafting throughout the entire room. From her lessons on herbs with the King's chef, Truva recognised the calming scent of lavender.
She hesitated for a moment, reluctant to let her guard down after such a harrowing night, then reassured herself as best as possible with a glance out the window upon the ordered chaos in the Coomb below. Moving away from the window, Truva gradually extricated herself from her garb, starting with her outer armour before graduating to her inner mail, layer upon layer of all that seemed designed to come between her and the relaxing bath.
It was with unparalleled relief which she sunk into the nearly scalding water, and as the sun beamed in through the opening, a tenuous calm crept over Truva. She sat fully immersed and unmoving for quite some time, then began to wash the blood from her body, examining every inch of her skin to ensure that the blood was not hers.
When at last the knots of her muscles had been undone by the warmth of the water, Truva wrapped herself in a sheet and collapsed upon the bed set against the far wall, incognizant of any troubles that lay beyond the door of her temporary chamber.
It felt as though mere seconds had passed when Truva opened her eyes again, yet the position of the sun in the sky indicated that several hours had gone by and the time was now midafternoon. There was no visible activity in the Deep below, but even so she knew it would not be long before the company would depart for Isengard.
Casting her eyes about the apartment, Truva noticed that what few belongings she brought with her from Edoras had been placed right inside the doorway as she was sleeping, along with several sets of freshly laundered clothes. She slipped into a pair of trousers and a tunic, crammed the rest of her things into her pack, took one last long, wistful look about the tiny room that had served as a haven – if only for but a fleeting moment – then ducked out into the corridor and back down the numerous stairs to the main keep and its stables.
A sense of solace swept through Truva's heart when she set eyes upon Bron, who was lounging contentedly in a stall. A box of apples in the corner caught Truva's eye, and while she was not entirely certain why such delicacies were to be found in a fortress that had so recently been under siege, she was neither too keen on questioning such fortuitousness.
She selected the most appetising fruit and offered it to Bron, who accepted the treat greedily. The stable hands clearly having groomed and cared for him since the battle, Truva merely leaned against his stolid shoulder and breathed in his earthy scent, allowing his calm spirit to wash over her and settle peace into her heart.
"Should I run into you in the stables any more frequently, I might start to suspect you prefer horses to your own kind," said a voice that instantly shattered all sense of tranquillity. Truva swung her head beneath Bron's neck only to see Aragorn standing in the neighbouring stall, loading a pack onto Hasufel.
"The same might be said of you," said Truva, her tone unreadable, for though they had seemed to come to some kind of truce, it was still difficult to discern the dynamic that lay between them.
"There are worse things in life," he said before leading his borrowed horse to the stable entrance. "We shall ride soon; I suggest you prepare quickly."
When his back turned, Truva mimicked the Ranger's words to herself mockingly, then followed him out of the stables and down through the courts to the main gate. In the field just beyond, Théoden King was already deep in discussion with Éofa and several other Eorlingas captains. Next to arrive was Éomer, followed closely by Legolas and Gimli, and their ranks had swollen to nearly a score of Riders ere Gandalf emerged at long last from the gates of Hornburg.
The sun was just beginning to sink toward the western mountains when the company set out toward Isengard. They gave little notice of their departure as to evade the attention of those who would make fanfare, for already it was late in the day, and the unspoken hope was that there would be rejoicing enough when the Riders returned in more jubilant times.
The great swath of ominous forest still lay in their path, however. Even as the final rays of sun burst across the sky the trees lurked like night, with branches that evoked the image of fingers threatening to ensnare the unwary, accompanied by the soft moan of boughs shifting in the slight wind. But when Gandalf entered the wood confidently, the others followed, and not even the stifling heat of the tunnel beyond could turn them from their path; indeed, Truva heard the Elf exclaiming in wonder at the mystery that surrounded them.
When the company emerged from the far side of the dusky forest, night had well and truly fallen across the land. They did not rest, however, and just beyond the Coomb they turned north upon the Great Road and continued on toward the River Isen, travelling for some hours before they finally came within sight of the Fords.
Truva's stomach constricted, for until that very moment she had not fully understood how excruciating it would be to revisit the place where she had lost so many, and especially one so dear. The memories of that night – scarcely a week gone – rushed back to her, and the more she dwelled upon such images the more intense they grew, until she fell into them completely. Truva saw before her the Uruks' dappled skin flitting in the dark, lurking shapes that darted across the riverbanks, glinting axes raised; she gasped for breath, struggling to extricate herself from the terrors of that night—
She felt Éomer's tight grasp about her forearm then, and shaking the images clear from her mind Truva found herself back in the present, Bron standing upon the pebbled banks of the Fords. Éomer peered into her face with an expression of deep concern.
"It happens to most all of us," he said by way of reassurance, when he saw that she had recovered somewhat.
Truva looked out across the Isen and saw the eyot where Théodred was buried. Additional monuments had been erected in honour of those Eorlingas who had fallen in the first battle, as well as a second that had transpired a mere two nights prior. She listened numbly as Gandalf relayed how more Eorlingas had been scattered than slain in the second assault, and yet the burial mounds and their crown of spears loomed up before her, only to peer down from a terrible height; while her brethren had endured the assault of Saruman, she had been safe in Edoras, feasting.
At great last, the company waded through the shallow water of the Fords and made camp alongside the road some leagues beyond. The sun of the following morning arose to cast a watery dawn, revealing in its faint light weedy scrubland that spread over the foothills of the Misty Mountains, dotted with the stumps of trees that had at one time formed a magnificent forest. Far off to the north, a column of smoke – or steam, perhaps – was visible as it roiled skyward.
The company made their way along the road in the direction of this signal, wary of the slightest sound though they encountered nothing. No more than an hour had they travelled ere a soft trickle could be heard, gradually increasing in volume as a tiny spring worked its way along the parched rocks of the riverbed beside them. Soon, the entire basin was awash with water that cascaded down from the north, surpassing the steep banks and forcing the Riders up off the road. In a matter of moments, the Isen was restored to an even greater level of ferocity than Truva had witnessed when she first journeyed into the lands of the Mark.
Gazing in wonder upon this inexplicable event, the company rode just a little further before they passed a spiny ridge of the Misty Mountains and the entirety of the Wizard's Vale sprawled out ahead of them; and from a slight rise, the Riders could see that beyond the shifting haze their path led to a shallow dip in the land. There, encircled by a giant ring of granite wall – impenetrable save for a single entrance that looked upon the road – the low grounds stretched clear across to the foothills of the mountains that lay still several leagues off. From the lowest point jutted an enormous, sleek tower that frowned intimidatingly upon the company.
"Orthanc," explained Éomer, pulling up beside Truva and craning his neck to peer upward toward the top of the jet black obelisk. "Long has it been home to Saruman the Wizard, who we Eorlingas once estimated might be friend at best and pest at worst – now turned wholly foe."
As the Riders approached closer, they could see the grounds about the tower were entirely abandoned, studded only by giant stones and toppled masonry protruding from a shallow pool of water, the murky depths of which filled the entire basin and settled into holes along the road; an apparent remnant of the flood they had witnessed that morning.
Truva gripped the hilt of her sword when the company came upon the wall, for it was so thick that each and every Rider could easily fit within the tunnel-like gate that passed through, though such great destruction had been wrought upon it that the roof had caved in and the mighty gates lay hanging upon their hinges. She had seen many workings of this wizard Saruman, however, and had come to suspect that the most perilous moment was when danger was seemingly passed.
It was thus with trepidation that she rode directly behind the King and Éomer, yet upon emerging from the far side of the gate, all Riders pulled their horses up short when they witnessed what lay beyond: utter ruin, as though a herd of behemoth trolls had been riled then sent on a rampage throughout the entire area, destroying even that which seemed indestructible, laying waste to all save the tower.
"Welcome, my lords and lady, to Isengard!"
Truva started when she heard a voice call out from what she had taken to be nothing more than a pile of debris directly beside the gate. The sound seemed to be coming from the rubble itself until Truva peered closer and saw two tiny, child-like figures tucked amongst the tumble of wood beams, one apparently asleep and the other standing, having greeted them.
All thought of correcting her form of address vanished from Truva's mind, and her eyes flew wide when she realised what she was witnessing. "Halflings!" she whispered to herself in amazement as the standing figure continued:
"We are the doorwardens. Meriadoc, son of Saradoc is my name; and my companion, who, alas! is overcome with weariness, is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the House of Took." Here, the Halfling comically nudged his sleeping friend – none too gently – with his foot. About them were scattered bowls and platters and scraps of all manner of delectable foods, the sight of which caused Truva's stomach to protest. She regretted having neglected the food back in Hornburg, though her hunger was far surpassed by her fascination, and the undeniable proof that Halflings were no mere mythology.
"Grand to see you, Master Wizard; long has it been since your recent visit!" said the Hobbit called Peregrin.
"And was it Saruman that ordered you to guard his damaged doors, and watch for the arrival of guests, when your attention could be spared from plate and bottle?" said Gandalf, who was clearly unsurprised by the presence of these beings.
"No, good sir, the matter escaped him," the Halfling called Meriadoc replied jocularly. "Our orders came from Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isengard."
Truva was not spared a moment to contemplate what a Treebeard might be before Gimli burst out, "And what about your companions? What about Legolas and me? You rascals, a fine hunt you have led us! And here we find you feasting and idling – and smoking! Smoking!"
"You speak for me, Gimli!" the Elf chimed in, "Though I would sooner learn how they came by the wine." And despite the turmoil that surrounded the relationship between Truva and the three travellers, she felt truly relieved to learn that the words of Gandalf had been true, and that these must certainly be the Halflings they had been searching for all along.
"Wine we have for our good friend Legolas, and great fare for Gimli, too, for well we know the habits of our friends," said Meriadoc. "Not least of all Strider, who appears kingly before us now, though it was not so terribly long ago that he lounged upon a chair in the Prancing Pony, wrapped mysteriously in a cloak and smoking his pipe; the finest weed we have set aside for him."
"Where is Treebeard, Merry?" asked the Wizard with a hint of a smile upon his lips. Truva wondered at these Halflings who knew the name Strider, though it had been offered but once to the Eorlingas; yet even more mystifying was their description of the Ranger, which was entirely incongruous with all Truva knew of him.
"Away on the north side, I believe," the Halfling replied. "Most of the other Ents are with him, still busy at their work – over there." The eyes of the company followed his vague gesticulation, and they saw far off in the distance a streaming waterfall that fed into the lake at their feet. The ruins of an enormous dam lay scattered at its edges, upon which was a sight Truva could not quite make sense of.
She shifted toward Éomer without taking her eyes off the vision and asked quietly, "Are those trees… moving?"
"I believe so," Éomer whispered back, equally bewildered.
"Well, Théoden," said Gandalf, "Will you ride with me to find Treebeard? We must go round about, but it is not far."
"Very well," said Théoden. "Lead on, my friend."
Absent the trio, who remained behind to greet their long-lost companions, the company slowly circled eastward around the great pillar of Orthanc, wary of loose flagstones and debris that lay hidden beneath the water at their horses' feet. When the Riders arrived at the foot of the dam, giant trees could be seen shifting through the rubble. The trees were of all kinds: humongous oaks with deeply scarred bark and scraggly arms, proud beech trees with their crown of foliage, tiny crabapples, and birches with distinct white peeling bark; each uniquely individual, and seeing them brought back to Truva a brief passing comment Gríma had made in their lessons long ago, causing a flash of recognition.
"Treebeard!" Gandalf called in greeting to the foremost tree, who turned and approached the Riders.
"Gandalf!" said the tree in a slow, deep voice that matched his ancient appearance. His utterance was accompanied by a strange, low hoom-hum of hemming and hawing. "So you have returned."
"Yes, and I see you have been at least as busy as I," the Wizard said, observing the destruction of the dam and the newly-formed lake.
"I do not suppose Ents may ever match a Wizard in productivity, but nor have we been idle."
It had taken hearing but one single word from the tree to confirm Truva's suspicions, and to send her mind reeling; for indisputably confirming the existence of both Halflings and Ents within a matter of mere minutes was quite incomprehensible to her. She stood watching in awe as Treebeard and Gandalf came together in conversation.
"Come, come, I suspect you are weary," the immense tree spoke, beckoning the Riders to the grassy sides of a hill above the floodwaters. "I have asked the Hobbits to gather what food fit for Men might be found in the wreckage – and strange food it is to us Ents, a-hroom!"
The company dismounted and set their horses upon the fresh greenery, then settled themselves upon the hillside. A handful of Ents distributed salted pork, as well as slightly stale bread with honey and butter amongst the Riders, who accepted the fare gratefully. They also passed around great tankards to drink from, and though the contents of the tankards were nothing more than water, Truva found that when it came her turn to drink, the rejuvenation that washed through her body was entirely inexplicable.
"Your hospitality, albeit different from that of Men, can never be said to be lacking," said Gandalf to Treebeard as the Riders worked to sate their hunger and thirst, the greedy flurry of fingers gradually abating to a more lackadaisical rummaging through crumbs, "But more urgent matters are pressing; what can you tell me of Saruman?"
"In his tower where our feisty Quickbeam chased him, as when you came last."
"No change since then?"
"Hoom! There was the arrival of a most curious creature, full of lies. Said he was a friend and counsellor of the King, and had been sent with important messages from Théoden to Saruman."
"Gríma!" Théoden King cried, his first word since they came into the company of the Ents.
"Allow me to introduce said King himself, King Théoden of the Horselords," said Gandalf.
"Long have you lived upon the borders of my forest and left us to live peaceably," said Treebeard to the King. "And though strange is the language of horses to us, hrum-hum, and infrequently do they wander among our woods, it is always lovingly that they speak of their kind treatment by your people."
"How is it that you speak to our horses?" questioned Théoden.
"Not as easily as we might converse with the natural inhabitants of our woods, of course, but still enough that we can make sense of their ninnying when the mood strikes us. Do you not also speak to them, in your own way?"
"I suppose we do – in our own way," said Théoden King thoughtfully.
"All's very well and good," Gandalf cut in, "But we have not the time to be sidetracked. What became of Gríma?"
"I knew him immediately for the man you spoke of the night before. He whined and wheedled, but given the choice between the mastery of Saruman and the vengeance of his King, he chose the former."
"That is of little surprise," mused Gandalf. "Well, I believe it is time I must pay Saruman and his servant a farewell visit. Dangerous, and probably useless; but it must be done. If our talks are fruitless – as I suspect they will be – I ask only that you continue your watch upon the tower and its inhabitants."
"Saruman shall not set foot beyond the rock, without my leave. Ents will see to that," promised Treebeard.
The company began to regroup at this exchange between Wizard and Tree. they stood and brushed crumbs of bread from their laps and whistled for their horses, who came trotting back greatly refreshed. Truva gave Bron an affectionate rub of the nose before mounting up and following the others as they made their way back toward the south side of Isengard.
Along their way, they met the small party that had remained behind: Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and the two Halflings, who were smoking quite contentedly and seemed entirely pleased with themselves.
"Where to now?" inquired the Halfling who called himself Meriadoc.
"To give a final greeting to the occupants of Orthanc, in the unlikely hopes that reason might win out," said Gandalf. "Those of you who wish may come with me – but beware!"
"What's the danger?" asked the other Halfling Peregrin. "Will he shoot at us, and pour fire out of the windows; or can he put a spell on us from a distance?"
"The last is most likely, if you ride to his door with a light heart. Beware his voice!"
The Eorlingas shifted uncomfortably in their saddles, recalling the strange mood that had overtaken their King for so long. It was undeniable that some sorcery had been the cause of it all, yet surely the mere sound of a voice was not sufficient to topple an entire kingdom?
Twenty-some sets of eyes observed warily as the Wizard Gandalf ascended the vast steps that lead to the only entrance of Orthanc, upon the eastern side of the tower. He hammered his staff against the gate and called out, "Saruman, Saruman, come forth!"
But it was not Saruman who answered. "Who is it? What do you wish?" responded the unmistakable voice of Gríma. The entire gathering inhaled sharply at the sound, and Théoden King mumbled threateningly under his breath.
"Go and fetch Saruman," commanded Gandalf, "Since you have become his footman!"
The tower remained silent for a suspenseful moment, then a voice suddenly emanated as if from the stone itself. "Well? Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?"
Upon hearing the musical tones of this voice, duelling factions within Truva's mind struggled for dominance. While the exact spoken words failed to register, she felt guilt wash over her, as though this man's grievances were a direct result of her own misguided actions. He was pitiable, his cause moving! A desire to lend succour to this gentle, wronged Wizard sparked within her; then a brief trill of objection surged, and Truva shook her head as if trying to dislodge water from her ear.
The entrancing voice spoke again. "Come now! Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan! Why have you not come before, and as a friend?"
At these words, Truva believed with all sincerity that Saruman harboured nothing save good intentions toward the plight of the Eorlingas. With a glance to her leader, she saw that Théoden was likewise beginning to perceive Saruman as a potential ally once more.
"Much have I desired to see you, mightiest king of western lands," continued the Wizard, "To save you from the unwise and evil counsels that beset you! Is it yet too late? What have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long years, can bring?"
The King did not answer, yet Truva could see him wavering, torn between the rapidly fading memory of recent events and the words now that his mind held to be true. It was then that Éomer spoke.
"Lord, hear me!" he beseeched. "Now we feel the peril that we were warned of. What aid can he give you? All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Théodred at the Fords!"
Théodred! The name struck Truva as surely as an arrow into her flesh and roused her from her delirium. His death was the working of Saruman and his ambitions alone, and to compromise in any way with this duplicitous Wizard would be a betrayal to his memory. Even so, the tendrils of Saruman's spell lingered still in her mind, and when she opened her mouth to speak in support of the Marshal, she found herself unable to summon any sound.
"Meddle not in policies you do not understand, Éomer son of Éomund!" snapped Saruman. "The power of Orthanc cannot be lightly thrown aside. You have won a battle but not a war – and that with help on which you cannot count again.
"But am I to be called a murderer, because valiant men have fallen in battle? If I am a murderer on that account, then all the House of Eorl is stained with murder, for they have fought many wars, and assailed many who defied them. Yet with some they have afterwards made peace. I say, Théoden King: shall we have peace and friendship, you and I?"
The company hung in anticipation upon the reply of the King, most unable to shake the mesmerising voice of Saruman. Truva longed to scream her dissent, yet her voice still caught in her throat; and so she watched with dread as her King fumbled for his words.
"We will have peace," Théoden King said at last. Truva hung her head, devastated by his lack of discernment. She snapped to attention, however, when the King continued, "We will have peace, when you and all your works have perished. You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts."
In an instant, the spell was wholly broken and the Eorlingas looked upon their King in awe, disconcerted by how easily they had been deceived by Saruman despite the warnings given.
"I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you," retorted the Wizard, "For I need you not, nor your little band of gallopers, as swift to fly as to advance, Théoden Horsemaster. Go back to your huts!"
Then, swift as the fickle wind on a summer day, Saruman shifted his attention to the next target. "But you, Gandalf! For you at least I am grieved. How comes it that you can endure such company? For you are proud, Gandalf – and not without reason, having a noble mind and eyes that look both deep and far. Even now will you not listen to my counsel? Let us understand one another, and dismiss from thought these lesser folk! Will you not consult with me? Will you not come up?"
Tension gripped the entire company; even through cracks in the enchantment, the Wizard's invitation sounded enticing. It was undeniable that a union between these two powerful figures would result in the destruction of all they had been fighting for.
"Saruman, Saruman," Gandalf laughed, and at the tone of his voice the riders exhaled as one a sigh of relief. "Nay, I do not think I will come up. Isengard has proved less strong than your hope and fancy made it. Think well, Saruman! Will you not come down? You can leave Orthanc free – if you choose."
"That sounds well, very much in the manner of Gandalf the Grey: so condescending, and so very kind. Do not be a fool. If you wish to treat with me, while you have a chance, go away, and come back when you are sober! Good day!"
"Come back, Saruman!" commanded Gandalf, and to the great astonishment of all gathered, the Wizard did so. "I did not give you leave to go. Behold, I am not Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White who has returned from death. You have no colour now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council. Saruman, your staff is broken."
And with those words the staff in Saruman's hand was shattered, yet even in the same moment, a giant orb fell from a window high above and smashed upon the stair beside Gandalf.
"The murderous rogue!" Éomer cried, shaking his spear threateningly as the figure of Gríma peered out from the source of the object.
"The aim was poor, maybe, because he could not make up his mind which he hated more, Gandalf or Saruman," commented Aragorn, his words sparking a thought in Truva's mind.
"That may be so," said Gandalf, reaching for the orb which Truva immediately recognised as the palantír Théoden had requested she gaze into so many years ago. "Small comfort will those two have in their companionship: they will gnaw one another with words."
"But the punishment is just," interjected Théoden. "If Wormtongue ever comes out of Orthanc alive, it will be more than he deserves."
"Is that truly so?" Truva spoke abruptly, the spark in her mind igniting into an untamed wildfire. "Did you not all feel its sway just now – the way in which the Wizard's words work into your mind and corrupt your very sense of self? Begging your pardon, my Lord, but have we not watched it seep into our very own King's heart and affect his governance? In much the same way, the Dunlending men had long presented a danger to our way of life, yet it was not until the honeyed tongue of Saruman flicked into their consciousness that they waged outright war against us.
"And yet will you not afford the same compassion toward Gríma? Do you not recall his countenance before you sent him upon his task to Isengard? His entire devotion was reserved for you, my Lord, and for our people! He was kind, and loving, and soft-spoken; more than a match for your very own sister-daughter, had you ever deigned to view him as anything more than a servant and advisor."
"What is it you are suggesting?" asked the King.
"Pardon him," said Truva. "Even if you do not forgive him, accept him back into our midst. It is far better that he makes reparations for his wrongdoing under our watchful gaze, than remain available to do the bidding of this cunning and unscrupulous Wizard."
"He nearly killed Gandalf with the palantír!" cried Éomer.
"Perhaps," acknowledged Truva, "Or perhaps, in a fit of conscience, he attempted to strip Saruman of the one object that amplified his power."
Truva could see the King's thoughts turn inward as he considered her proposition, leaving Truva feeling uncomfortably exposed. It was one thing to ask pardon for the Dunlending men – it was not the Eorlingas way to annihilate their enemies upon victory, and so her request had been in keeping with the spirit of Eorl – yet to ask pardon for one who had so traitorously betrayed the King himself was perhaps asking too much.
"If I may," spoke Aragorn from behind the King. Truva promptly spun upon him.
"Was it not enough to have thrown suspicion upon me? Must you condemn this man also, as wrong as his actions were?" she demanded. "Or perhaps you mistrust me still, and take my words as an ill-conceived attempt to reunite with my fellow conspirator?"
"On the contrary," Aragorn said gently, "I agree with your assertion; evil has guided too many actions of late, and if it lies within our ability to alter its course, it is our duty to do so. I similarly believe this man was misled by the power of Saruman, and is deserving our forgiveness."
Truva stared at Aragorn, surprise written clearly upon her face. Théoden peered intently at the Ranger for a few moments before turning to Gandalf, who simply raised a bushy eyebrow slightly. After a long silence, the King finally spoke.
"I agree that it would be hypocritical of me not to accept the faults in a servant that I myself have displayed," he said, then called out in the direction of Orthanc, "Gríma! If at all you retain any deference to your King, I beg of you to abandon this false serpent and come with us now."
Gandalf, however, took another tack. "Saruman, hear my words! Your choice is not that of your servant; allow Gríma to go free if he so wills."
Truva's heart palpitated in the silence that followed, fearful that her calculations had been incorrect. Perhaps it truly was of his own volition that Gríma had allied himself with Saruman, tempted by the worldly rewards promised him. It pained Truva to envision the man she had once respected as one driven by such base pleasures, though she had learnt long ago that the inner workings of the minds of Men escaped her.
A few moments elapsed, and it was with hollow disappointment that Truva watched Théoden King turn Snowmane about and make his way southward toward the entrance of Isengard. She felt as though she were witnessing the death of yet another companion; for while her affection for Théodred ran far deeper, hit had been in the height of loyalty to his people that he had been taken from her. To have so severely misjudged the character of another dear friend was an entirely different wound that would scar in its own way.
As she turned to follow her King and company, however, a flicker of movement caught Truva's eye. The massive gates of Orthanc cracked open, and from the crevasse emerged a dark figure. Though a pale hand shot out after it, snatching at the trailing cloak, it missed and retracted quickly as the gates snapped shut once more.
"My lord!" cried Truva. All Riders swung about to see the pitiful form of Gríma tumbling down the steps of the tower, only to stagger through the stagnant puddles that remained after the flood.
"My lord, my King!" called Gríma. "As Truva has said, you need not forgive me, but I beg of you — please take me with you! I have enacted great wrong against our people, yet it originated in the mind of Saruman and was actualised against my better judgement. In the moment, I knew not what came over me, yet now I see it was the malicious intent of one more powerful than I by which my misdeeds were conducted. Even so, I wish not to make excuses; please allow me to make reparations as are due."
The King heard his former advisor's pleas and sighed deeply. "There was a time I trusted you with that which I did not trust my own self, yet those days are gone. You bore a shadow into the halls of Edoras, and brought about events which can never be redressed. Nevertheless, it is through my own actions that you encountered this Wizard in the first place, and so the blame also lies in part with me. Even so, I must insist that you are bound for the time being, as I cannot yet bring myself to fully trust you."
"Your highness is just and prudent. I will submit to whatever conditions you demand, and will henceforth seek only to prove that my true loyalty lies with the Mark. I ask not that you believe me upon my word, so that I may ever be forced to show my sincerity through action."
At a subtle gesture from Théoden King, Éofa dismounted and pulled a short length of rope from his saddlebag. He deftly bound the hands of Gríma and aided him in mounting his horse before climbing up rather peevishly behind the disgraced advisor and tying the remnant of the new captive's bonds about his waist.
"It is my hope that a certain Wizard takes his servant's spirit to heart and reconsiders his own position," said Gandalf rather loudly and pointedly before the entire company rode out and passed through the demolished archway to the road beyond.
They took an easy pace as the sun slowly sunk behind the Misty Mountains. Even as darkness crept down the mountainsides they continued on, accompanied by the rejuvenated voice of the River Isen, until at last they turned slightly upland and made camp just a few hours before midnight upon the sloping hills of Dol Baran at the southernmost point of the mountain range. Truva elected to take the unfavoured late-night, early-morning watch, yet no sooner had she picketed Bron and rolled out her blankets for a brief rest than Éofa summoned her for council.
Théoden King sat with the Wizard Gandalf before a bonfire at the foot of a giant hawthorn, the flames throwing flickering shadows upon their faces, worn with grave concern. Aragorn and Éomer stood nearby, and as Truva and Éofa approached, Gimli and Legolas appeared also from the darkness.
"Now, have we all gathered?" asked Gandalf. "Very well, let us begin. It is apparent from recent events that some link between Isengard and Mordor exists, the true nature of which has yet to be determined. The eye of Barad-dûr will be looking impatiently towards the Wizard's Vale, I think; and towards Rohan."
"The less it sees the better," said Théoden King.
"From now on, no more than two or three are to go openly over the land, by day or night, when it can be avoided," added Gandalf.
"We must set to action," said the King. "Éomer, take one or two of your trusted men and make for Edoras. Gather all those who remain within the city and send word to the furthest reaches of our lands; there is no use protecting a home if there are none to return to it. Éofa, take a company to Dunharrow and warn my sister-daughter Éowyn of our situation."
"I myself will take one of the Hobbits, the lightest and most convincing of companions, to Minas Tirith," said Gandalf. "There will I attempt to warn the Steward of the imminent threat that surely comes from the East."
"The rest of us shall return to Hornburg and gather our troops there, converging ultimately upon Dunharrow," said the King. As they spoke, Truva wondered which faction she would be asked to accompany, secretly hoping that she might follow Éofa as to travel less and see Éowyn and the others all the sooner.
"Let us all get some rest," said Gandalf. "The most imminent danger may have passed for now, but there is no knowing what morning light is to reveal. Aragorn, if I might have a word."
The Ranger lingered behind with the King and Wizard as the rest stood to take their leave. Truva departed to her watch, for even though it was still early she knew there was no longer any hope of rest. After relieving the thankful watchman, she spent the hours peering deep into the darkness, using her ears to assist her eyes in confirming that nothing save natural wild creatures crept near.
Though it had been a mere two hours, it felt as if the entire night had transpired when Éofa relieved her at long last. As Truva made her way back to the main camp, she passed just beyond the light of the fading embers beneath the hawthorn, and saw that Aragorn and Gandalf continued to bend their heads together in quiet discussion. She furtively moved closer in an attempt to discern what topic their whispers might be regarding.
"—but a Man," Aragorn was saying. "What reason have they to listen to me?"
"And I am but a meddling Wizard," said Gandalf. "You are as likely as I to wield any influence there—" He stopped talking suddenly when he sensed Truva's presence. "I suppose you have finished your watch, then?"
Truva stepped into the faint red glow of the dying fire. "Yes. I am sorry for eavesdropping, only—" she broke off when she realised there was no plausible excuse for listening in on their conversation.
"It is all very well," said the Wizard. "I have been meaning to speak with you as it is. Come, sit," he said, and while the words themselves sounded like an invitation, it felt more like a command. Truva sat.
For a few moments Gandalf said nothing, merely looked long and hard into Truva's eyes, almost as though that commanding voice was examining her very soul. "I understand you come from truly unique origins."
"I suppose that might be said to be true," said Truva, unsure of the Wizard's purpose. She glanced at Aragorn, yet he would not meet her gaze.
"I have been led to believe the Hidlands are populated by fighters, unfairly enslaved. If you had to estimate, how many would you suppose to be currently held in those Lands?"
"Hundreds, perhaps?" Truva estimated, caught off guard.
"Take her with you when you go north, Aragorn," ordered Gandalf. "See how many friends will answer our call."
"North?" Truva said, shocked to find herself having questioned the Wizard. "All the forces of the Mark converge now upon Dunharrow, looking to the west – yet you would send us north? Any destination that way is several weeks' ride; is our priority not haste?"
"Indeed, time is pressing," said Gandalf, seeming conversely rather pleased at her questions, "Yet there is one thing the events at Hornburg have demonstrated to Sauron: the old alliances of Men are weak. Saruman's influence caused Théoden to drive many from him – an effect which you yourself experienced. Gondor did not come to Rohan's aid in all that time, nor did Rohan ever seek to summon it.
"This I believe has bought us some time. Sauron does not expect the old alliances to be reforged, and he would not be amiss in assuming so, did we not have one in our midst with the potential to achieve that which has not been done in a very long time."
Truva looked once more to Aragorn, for it was clearly he Gandalf spoke of. "And what of Legolas? And Gimli?" said the Ranger. "They will feel sore at being left out."
"Then sore they must be," said Gandalf. "Though we might press our advantage, we still do not have the time to dally; and a horse bearing two riders – one of whom is unaccustomed to riding – would only serve to slow you and attract unwanted attention. Go as two, and may you return as many."
Aragorn rose to his feet. "It is ineffectual to argue with a Wizard when he has set his mind to something," he sighed.
"Verily; now more than ever," said Gandalf.
The three went their separate ways, each to their separate thoughts. Truva felt somewhat vexed and wholly ignored, for never once in their counsel had her opinion been asked. To ride with this Ranger who had not trusted her, with whom her relationship was still tenuous, on a task she did not fully comprehend the purpose of, was beyond any command she had ever received.
Once wrapped in her meagre blankets, Truva lay awake until morning. Her mind reeled with thoughts of Hobbits and Ents and flashes of battles and warriors now gone from the world; yet what troubled her greatest was that her projected path would bring her ever closer to the one place she had spent an agonising amount of time and energy driving every trace of from her memory – the horrors which still caused her to wake in a cold sweat when they walked in her nightmares, whip in hand. Yes, the possibility of returning to her dreaded birthplace was what weighed most heavily in Truva's mind, and prevented her from closing her eyes even for a moment.