Author's recommended listening: Prokofiev, Symphony No. 5 in B-flat major
CHAPTER XV: RETURN TO THE HIDLANDS
Truva awoke quite some time before dawn the next morning, as her body had been conditioned to do by weeks of travelling with Aragorn. She quickly washed up in a corner basin, then changed at last from her filthy garb into a flowing robe that had been folded and left neatly upon her pack. She delighted in the gentle swish of fabric against her clean skin as she wandered the ethereal city, watching the pink haze creep up from behind the towering mountains to throw colour back into the dell, and she found her aimless footsteps ultimately returned to Bron.
"Why cannot Men and Elves and the like be as easily understood as horses?" Truva bemoaned aloud to her companion as she leaned into Bron's muscular shoulder. He took the opportunity to nibble her fingers and reprimand her for the lack of treats.
Truva was halfway through brushing his tail when a gong sounded in the distance. Assuming it was to signal breakfast, she took her time in finishing up, for though Bron had been immaculately groomed by the Elves and her efforts were needless, Truva was in no rush to sit through another awkward meal.
When she at last entered the hall, Truva was relieved to see the long table was nearly empty. She took a seat set apart from what few occupants there were, and quickly turned her attention to the breads and cheeses that were set out upon the table. She was just spreading butter across a slice of rye when a voice directly behind her gave her a start.
"Good morn, fair Lady of Rohan!" it said. Truva spun around, only to lay eyes upon the northern Ranger Halbarad, cheerful despite the early hour.
"I do believe I have explained I am no lady, for I bear no title nor any land - I am merely a soldier," Truva corrected with rather unnecessary sullenness, "And it may be morning, but its goodness is certainly in question."
Halbarad either did not notice or intentionally chose to ignore her peevishness, instead pulling out a seat and selecting a cluster of grapes that lay nestled among the loaves of bread.
"There is to be a council directly after breakfast; surely you are expected to attend. Shall I show you the way?" he asked, though he seemed to anticipate her lack of answer and merely continued to consume the grapes. Despite her own discomfort in meeting new people, Truva could not help but respect the Ranger's unconcerned attitude.
When they had both eaten their fill, Halbarad led Truva from the hall and to a stone staircase, more product of nature than construction of working hands, which climbed steeply up a jutting finger of the mountains. From the vantage point upon the hilly crest, even the massive roof of the dining hall disappeared among the other buildings, dwarfed by the sheer height of the precipice, and the rush of the Bruinen below fell to a whisper.
A few Rangers had already gathered about a small table in the centre of the platform, conversing in low tones with the Elves that reclined there. It was not long before Aragorn himself appeared, alone, and aside from a curt nod in the direction of Halbarad and Truva, he acknowledged no one.
Complete silence fell when Elrond mounted the steps and took a seat at the head of the table and said, "It is time for us to discuss matters as they currently stand. Darkness spreads across the lands of Middle Earth, threatening and unbidden, and we must now decide what is to be the fate of our peoples. These are not decisions to be made lightly, for all that comes after hangs in the balance of what choices we now make."
"My Lord," began Aragorn, and Truva was startled to hear how feeble and hollow his voice sounded. "I know it is pointless to beseech you, yet—"
"Yes, it is pointless," replied Elrond. "My people are bound by a destiny that lies beyond the lives of Men. Our fate is interwoven with that of the fellowship's mission; should they succeed, so too shall we fade away. Should the fellowship fail, however..."
"Yet long have you lived amongst us," said Halbarad as Elrond trailed off, the Ranger's mien far more indomitable. "Do you not owe us any allegiance ere you sail to the shores of Valinor?"
"We owe a great allegiance, it is true, and thus have done what lay even beyond obligation, beyond your comprehension," Elrond said mildly. Truva's head turned from one speaker to another, wholly lost as to what mission they spoke of, and of what allegiance, and what a place Valinor might be.
"Then will you not grant us succour?" Aragorn implored Elrond.
"Aid you we shall, but perhaps not in the way you hope," said the Elven lord.
"Then in what way will you deign to aid us?" asked Halbarad.
Elrond, ignoring the Dúnadan's impishness, merely replied, "There is one among your company who will provide you with assets you have little notion of. To that end, we shall supply you with a herd of our finest horses, all supplied with weapons and provisions enough for a month's journey."
"Horses cannot fight against the forces that gather now in Mordor!" shouted Halbarad, seething.
"My brave Ranger, trust in what will come to pass," said Elrond as Aragorn extended an arm to stay his raging friend.
"What will come to pass is the death of all that is good in Middle Earth if you do not come to our aid, sitting idly within your mountain sanctuary!" Halbarad continued before rounding on Aragorn. "How is it you accept this betrayal so calmly?"
Aragorn inhaled deeply before addressing the Elven King with level tones. "Will you not at least afford your soldiers the choice of joining us?"
"It is not a choice I have ever denied them," replied Elrond, "Yet you see that few shall join you. Our fate lies elsewhere."
"Very well," said Aragorn, still restraining Halbarad. "It is with humble heart that we accept your generous offer. As our business is urgent, we shall depart as soon as possible."
"You will find our resources have already been prepared and are at your disposal whenever you desire them," said the Elf.
"I thank you for providing us with all that you are able," said Aragorn, bowing deeply before turning to descend the stairs. Halbarad followed after a somewhat flippant bow, and the other Dúnedain present likewise took their leave. Suddenly pulled to awareness, Truva performed a clumsy bow then fled after the others. She could see Halbarad storming ahead beside Aragorn, and as she pulled close, she could just make out their conversation.
"Without their aid, we are lost, Aragorn!" raged Halbarad.
"Ever have we known the affairs of mortals begged little deference in the minds of Elves. Elrond's decision is not wholly unexpected; it was but the glimmer of a hope that guided us to this point."
"What do you suppose he meant by 'one among our company'?" Halbarad wondered, then as one both he and Aragorn turned to look at Truva, who averted her eyes under their scrutiny.
"Truva," called Aragorn, beckoning to her, and Truva moved closer. "Are your bags packed?"
"Always," Truva replied.
"Then I apologise. You shall need them for one more night – we leave tomorrow just before dawn," said Aragorn.
"As you command, my Lord," said Truva, sensing that she was dismissed. As she began to move away, however, she caught the last wisps of their conversation.
"If all is as you say, it is rather remarkable," she faintly heard Halbarad remark.
"And it is not even to us whom she owes allegiance," said Aragorn.
"I am ever curious as to what contrivances whirl in the mind of that Wizard…" yet Halbarad's voice trailed off as Truva turned down a side path, away from the others. She went first to her accommodations to ensure that, despite Aragorn's assurance that they would depart on the morrow, her possessions were still in order. There, she found her garments had been freshly laundered and laid neatly upon the bed. She packed them in her rucksack then sat upon the bed, gazing listlessly out across the dell.
With little else to occupy her, Truva made a brief visit to Bron before filling the afternoon with exploration, wandering the intricate paths of Rivendell. Up and down hills ornamented with delicate andromeda shrubs, behind the deafening flows of waterfalls which sparkled and sent up a misty lace into the late afternoon sun; and along scraggly, moss-laden cliffs her meanderings took her, offering breathtaking sights to one whose youth was spent surrounded barren alpine rock, and whose latter days had been dominated by the grassy plains of the Mark.
Truva slept that night engulfed in an easy, soothing peace, and rose early the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed. She left the borrowed robe folded upon the bed, then took her pack to the stables and loaded it onto Bron before scrounging for treats from the dining hall to take on the journey. She waited impatiently as the group of Rangers filtered into the stables and prepared to depart, dipping her feet into a pleasantly bubbling stream. She grasped at each fleeting moment of serenity as it flew by, for she sensed that coming events would offer little respite.
During a quiet lull in the half-light of dawn, the hair at the nape of Truva's neck fanned as if disturbed by a gentle breeze, though no trees about her stirred. Some impulse bade her look left, and in doing so Truva saw the Lady Arwen scrutinising her with a peculiar intensity. Truva leapt to her feet immediately, splashing water from the stream over herself and the flagstones, and nearly soaking the Elf who had approached unnervingly close without being detected.
"My Lady," Truva stammered as she bowed low.
"Come now," said Arwen, kindly laying a hand upon Truva's arm, and unlike when all others did so, Truva felt no compulsion to shy away from her touch. "There is no need for either such pomp or circumstance."
"Yes, My Lady— Arwen," said Truva. The Elf laughed, though her laughter was light and musical and not in any way mocking, and the glow that effused from her mesmerised Truva, for it created a veil that softened her milky skin, stark against her black hair. When Arwen spoke again, her voice was not a voice but the embrace of a loved one, the scent of first rain, the sound of trees growing in the forest.
"I have heard a great deal about you," she said, and Truva nearly did not comprehend the meaning of her words, so entranced was she by the lyricism of the Elf's voice. "Aragorn says that even in the short time he has known you, your story has proven to be quite remarkable."
"It is unexpected that he spoke to any extent on matters of mine, considering how he is typically so unforthcoming," Truva mumbled, frowning internally yet not wishing for the elegant creature before her to discern her base emotions. Arwen smiled, and Truva understood that no matter how desperately she sought to hide her thoughts, she was as transparent as the waters of Imladris to the Elf.
"I have a present for you," Arwen said after a moment's pause, "But it is conditional."
Truva grew somewhat guarded. "What are the conditions?"
"There is but one: that you devote its use to the protection of those you now ride with."
"That is to say, the protection of Aragorn?" Truva hazarded.
"Sharp is your discernment," Arwen said, ducking her head abashedly – the first indication of anything aside from unshakable poise that Truva had observed. "Yes, the protection of Aragorn."
Truva sighed, for it seemed like an eternity ago and a sky's breadth away that Héodis had entrusted to her the safety of Éomód, and subsequently Éowyn the safety of the very man that Arwen now also showed concern for. Truva felt doubt once again begin to encroach upon her consciousness, unsure of whether she was capable of fulfilling the tremendous expectations placed upon her.
Arwen seemed to sense Truva's discomfort, for she once again laid a reassuring hand upon Truva's shoulder. She pulled then a bow and a quiver full of arrows as if from midair. Truva gazed agape at the beauty of the weapon presented to her; never before had she seen a bow made of rowan wood, yet its golden hue stood out against the decorative opalescent inlay in the most entrancing way. Truva instinctively reached out to stroke the impressive workmanship, then withdrew her hand suddenly when she recalled her place.
"Take it," Arwen urged, holding out the bow in offering, "It is yours."
"Why do you not give it to one of the Dúnedain; Halbarad, perhaps?" said Truva.
"Long have the Dúnedain ridden with Aragorn, and well they know his ways – too well. It is difficult for them to shake their perception of the proud leader, unwavering and undaunted. They do not see him as you do, for you perceive him anew with eyes unprejudiced, and visible to you are the dangers others overlook.
"I suppose I must also mention that we have already supplied the Dúnedain with weapons of the greatest craftsmanship," she added with a hint of a smile.
"Oh," said Truva, feeling foolish. "Even still, I cannot in good faith guarantee Aragorn's safety."
"The time of guarantees has passed; even the sight of the Elves has dimmed now, and nothing is certain. I ask not for your assurance – merely your will, your strength and determination." Arwen took Truva's hand in her own and laid it gently upon the bow. Truva ran her fingers along the length of its curve, feeling the tautness and unparalleled smoothness; then she took it in her grip and drew the string, testing its tension. At last she clutched the bow to her chest, slipping the quiver over her shoulder.
"I am aware that a bow is not your weapon of choice," Arwen admitted, "Yet I believe you might wield it well in times of necessity."
"May such times never come to pass," said Truva.
"They shall come to pass, and sooner than any suspect. It does not require the foresight of Elves to know that the events which we fear greatest lie upon the very threshold of time. But do not despair," she added quickly, seeing the terror that welled in Truva's eyes, "For nothing is certain, neither the triumph of Man nor the rise of evil. May hope ever flourish in the breast of those who seek to protect all that is good in Middle Earth."
With these words, she laid a hand upon Truva's chest, and a wave of calm washed over the Eorlingas warrior. Truva closed her eyes for a moment, soaking in tranquillity the Elven touch conveyed, yet when she opened her eyes again Arwen was already moving away. Though her back was turned, Truva could sense a quiet desolation emanating from her.
Truva paused a moment to watch Arwen's retreating figure, then looked to the bow that lay in her hands. As she tested its string once more, Truva hoped that its danger would be equivalent to its beauty, though no amount of gilding could compensate for an inexperienced bowman's arm such as hers.
Truva still stood barefoot at the creekside, examining her new possession, when Aragorn strode into the stables. She was surprised to note he had exchanged his forest green cloak of Lórien for the dark grey of the Riders, though he did not pause to explain as he threw himself upon Hasufel and shouted, "Come, let us ride!"
Truva quickly stepped into her boots and approached Bron, who was practically dancing in anticipation. She mounted up and joined the parade of Rangers who had likewise been roused by Aragorn's cry, the hooves of their horses clacking thunderously upon the stone walkway that wound through Rivendell.
Among the Dúnedain rode Elladan and Elrohir, the Elven sons of Elrond, who desired to join their cause; and behind them streamed an entire herd of horses – hundreds in number – all riderless yet saddled and supplied with bulging saddlebags. Truva could only guess as to their purpose, though they made a fearsome sight nevertheless.
The assembly made its way over the bridge beyond the borders of Rivendell, traversing the secluded mountain crags and once again rejoining the Bruinen just as the morning light began to paint the cliffsides golden. Rather than making southward back along the route Aragorn and Truva had come by, however, the company turned northward, toward the haze of the Ettenmoors just visible on the horizon.
The travellers were silent at first, still shaking off the last tendrils of sleepy fog, but then voice by voice individual conversations picked up. The lively atmosphere felt peculiar to Truva, who had spent the past several weeks travelling in the taciturn company of Aragorn, who spoke only on the occasion that he had some knowledge he wished to impart upon her.
Truva felt no desire to break her silence with these unfamiliar and aloof figures, yet Halbarad did not share her reticence. The morning sun was still low in the sky when he dropped back from his position at the front of the company to ride beside her.
"Good morning, soldier! How did you sleep last night?" he inquired cheerfully.
"I slept," Truva responded obstinately, though she was thankful he had at last chosen to address her in accordance with her proper station. Halbarad shifted in his saddle at her standoffishness.
"Is there some quality of mine that provokes your ire?" he asked. Truva started suddenly, for she had not until that very moment realised how unbearably tense she had grown since the Battle of the Fords, and weeks of travel with the equally untalkative Aragorn had done nothing to improve her temperament; yet Halbarad's question demonstrated that her reticent demeanour affected not only herself but others as well, and she felt ashamed for having behaved in such brusque manner toward the kindhearted Dúnadan.
"Ah, that is not it," she reassured Halbarad, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.
"Perhaps you take me for Aragorn," said Halbarad. "Though he, too, was once less troubled than he is now, even in his youth he was close. I believe the burden of expectation has caused him to doubt his own abilities heavily, for he is more distant and unapproachable than ever, yet I beg of you not to extrapolate his behaviour to all Rangers."
"It would be wrong to judge an entire group by a single member," said Truva, recalling Aragorn's lecture on the nature of Dwarves long ago, upon the heights of the Hornburg. Sensing that she owed Halbarad some form of overture, Truva hesitated but a moment more before asking, "So how is it that you came to know Aragorn?"
The Dúnadan smiled at her question, and launched into a story that consisted of shiver-inducing wolves and the Rangers' protection of the Shire, which Truva paid particular attention to in her thirst for details regarding the Halflings she had so recently encountered. Even when Aragorn signalled a noontime halt he continued to recount a particularly cold winter, requiring little prompting to embellish upon the tale when the company took to their horses again.
Truva felt greatly relieved that Halbarad did not seem to expect any input beyond the occasional gasp or exclamation; she felt oddly soothed by his unending narration, and it made the homogenous landscape pass by more quickly. There was certainly a marked difference from Aragorn's company, for even when he was lecturing her Aragorn was far more concise than his compatriot.
Not long after lunch, the company arrived at the banks of a river and began to pitch camp, though the sun was still fairly high in the western sky. With an alarming jolt, Truva recognised their location; the river was that which she had seen when departing the Hidland Valley, having won her freedom and joined the company of Eorlingas. Looking to the east, she saw Blackbramble Peak lurking amidst the ridges of the northern Misty Mountains, for despite the passage of many years its image remained seared into her memory.
Truva's breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to dismount. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her when her feet hit the earth, and she was compelled to steady herself against Bron, unable to move further. Halbarad had already wandered off to his designated tasks, and the entire camp was likewise abuzz with movement and purpose, yet Truva could not seem to organise her thoughts or muscles. She was frozen in place by insurmountable trepidation, and it was in such an incapacitated state that Aragorn found her.
"Get some rest," he said, his tone curt. "We will enter the Valley when it grows dark. Did you not say to Gandalf there would be fighters willing to join our cause?"
"There are fighters enough," Truva gasped, still struggling for breath. Though Gandalf had never spoken outright of his intentions, Aragorn's words confirmed at last what she had long suspected; it had been easy enough to discern the Wizard's aim in sending them northward. "Yet they are captives and know naught else — any attempt to anticipate their will is a fool's gamble."
"To free them is our primary duty," said Aragorn. "Once granted that freedom, their choice is their own — though I do hope you might see fit to nurture in them some empathy for our cause."
Truva inhaled a great lungful of air, attempting to parse Aragorn's terse response into easily discernible phrases. His newly adopted callous disposition only served to amplify her disorientation, however, and she felt as though she intuitively understood his meaning while simultaneously failing to comprehend a single word.
"Get some food before you rest," Aragorn continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. "You shall be woken when it is time; it will be soon."
In that very moment, Halbarad approached with a loaf of bread stuffed with roasted vegetables – a last parting gift of the Elves, who knew it would be long ere the company would sup on fresh fare again. Truva did not feel particularly inclined to eat, yet she took Aragorn's advice and slowly consumed the meal. Once nothing save crumbs remained, she pulled her travelling cloak tight about her and rested her head upon her rucksack, for what need was there to pitch a tent when the company's departure was imminent?
Truva had scarcely blinked her eyes when Aragorn shook her awake. He said nothing, for he had no need to. Though the light was gone from the sky, the heat of day lingered faintly, and the rustling of nocturnal creatures beginning to emerge marked the night as still fairly young.
Truva made as if to mount up, but Aragorn stayed her hands. "We go on foot," he explained. "Bring only what you need."
The entire company gathered – all save the Elven brothers who elected to remain behind and guard the horses – and set out into the darkness, following first alongside the banks of the river, then curving southeastward across the sparse scrubland. The Misty Mountains appeared little more than a deeper blackness against the night sky ahead, looming high above and obscuring the troops of stars that splayed out in unchanging formations.
Aragorn led them with clarity despite the darkness, setting a quick pace across the terrain which turned from scrubland to rocky foothills before too long. He silently called a halt and motioned for two Dúnedain to scout ahead as the rest of the party huddled under the meagre cover of some scraggly heather. All save Truva seemed unbothered by their current mission, and Halbarad even crept over to attempt conversation.
"Long have I patrolled these northern reaches," he said to her, "And on occasion I have heard tell of the Hidden Lands, though I have never visited. In all truthfulness, I did not believe it was a real place until you appeared. What is this Valley like?"
Truva was taken aback by his garrulous mood, yet was spared the trouble of formulating a response by Aragorn's shushing. When Halbarad fell silent, pulling a face in Aragorn's direction, the faint sound of a whippoorwill's call could be heard on the wind. As one, the company arose, and by the time they reached the sheer face of the Valley's entrance they were rejoined by the scouts.
"Only a handful of guards," said one. "Half were asleep when we came upon them."
"Good," said Aragorn, "Keep a watchful eye. There may be more."
As one, they slunk through the ravine that cut its way into the valley, staying off the trail and hanging close to the rocky mountain faces. So secretively did they move that not a single sound echoed off the stone to announce their progress.
Looking up at the moon as she often had so many years ago, time seemed to melt away and Truva felt as though she had never left the Hidlands. The wounds she had endured – both in body and in mind – now returned to her, all the sharper for having been long absent: the back of her hamstring where a whip had sliced especially deep, and her cheekbone, fractured times unnumbered yet never given the opportunity to heal fully. Her breath came in short, panicked bouts, and she might have seen her vision sway had anything save darkness been visible.
Suddenly, Aragorn was at her side. He clutched Truva's arm, squeezing so tightly it almost hurt.
"Breathe," he demanded. He inhaled a deep breath and waited for Truva to follow suit before exhaling slowly, slowly, then repeated the same pattern several times. When he then peered inquiringly into Truva's eyes, she nodded shortly and he gave one last squeeze of her arm. The company, which Truva now realised had stopped to observe, once again moved forward.
Though she was mortified for having caused a disruption, Aragorn's momentary reassurance had allayed some of her terror. A hum of tension still lingered, yet Truva no longer felt as though the world was closing in on her, and she trekked on in the midst of the Dúnedain, heartened by their numbers and stoicism.
The silhouettes of hovels and shelters on the outskirts of the first village gradually emerged in the light of the moon, then there, distinct among all other structures, rose the formidable Coliseum. Truva pulled up short, though it was but a fleeting fear that gave her pause; even as she looked upon the dilapidated announcer's platform and gaping maw of the arena, a renewed sense of purpose welled within her, and she saw her course of action laid out clear before her.
Truva increased her pace and led the Rangers past the quiescent Coliseum to the main street that ran through the village. Unless the layout had greatly altered in the years since her departure, she knew precisely where along the market street the foremost cages would be found.
Some things never change, Truva thought to herself as the first cage came into view just beyond the folded canopy of a vegetable stall. She flew to its gate and whispered desperately to its occupant as she pulled out a pick and began to work at the lock – yet another skill she had learned from the Eorlingas.
Glossy eyes blinked open in the darkness as the pile of rags within began to stir.
"Truva?" the voice rasped. Truva's head snapped up from her task. Staring back at her was her opponent from long ago, the one who had been stolen from her village far within the depths of the Hidlands, the one whose name she to this day did not know. The fighter looked significantly more bedraggled and gaunt – positively starved – and the right side of her face was swollen and cut from a recent fight, yet Truva knew her in an instant.
"What are you doing here?" asked the fighter with a glance at the solemn Dúnedain that crowded around.
"I came back for you."
"But why?"
"I shall explain soon," Truva said as she finally toggled the lock loose and unlatched the cage. The fighter stumbled to her feet and out into the market path.
Truva handed an additional pin to the fighter. "Would you be willing to assist us?"
"In any way possible!" the fighter said, the tension in her voice palpable, for she was rejuvenated with an energy that but moments before would have seemed impossible.
"Take a few of my companions and travel to the nearest village. Have you knowledge of lockpicking?" she asked, motioning for a pair of Rangers to step forward.
"No."
"I do," interjected one of the Rangers.
"Excellent," said Truva. "Release as many fighters as you may. If you are curious as to our cause, return to the Coliseum by dawn; otherwise, seize your freedom and do with it what you will."
"I shall do as you say," she responded, seizing the pick and turning to run further eastward along the main street, the Dúnedain following after.
"Wait!" The fighter had gone but a few steps before Truva's whispered exclamation stopped her in her tracks. "What is your name?"
"Chaya," said the fighter, her smile almost indiscernible in the darkness ere she melted away.
Truva turned to the next cage, that which she had spent her last remaining days of the Hidlands in. Another figure stirred there, roused by the commotion. Truva did not recognise this fighter, yet when she explained their mission, his enthusiasm for overthrowing his enslavers suggested he was a new fighter, still imbued with a rebellious spirit, outcast to the market cages to be broken. Truva sent him in the direction of the more southerly villages of the Hidlands, once again accompanied by two of the Dúnedain.
The remaining Rangers, Truva at their lead, made their way along the market street in a similar fashion, sometimes deviating down side streets where Truva knew certain slave owners' personal teams to be held. Upon release, some fighters headed eastward, up deeper into the valley to release slaves from more distant villages. Others made their way westward, toward the entrance of the valley and their own personal freedom. A few chose to linger about their saviours, uncertain of events to come and unwilling to risk their newly obtained emancipation.
Despite Truva's anticipation of the slave owners' waking, the fighters encountered little resistance, even as they progressed through the streets. Perhaps the free villagers were too accustomed to their comfortable lifestyle, sustained as it had been for generations, and never suspected that it might one day be compromised.
In the wee hours before dawn, the company made their way at last to the Training Compound and Fighters' Quarters. Truva quickly dispatched the lock on the main gate and dashed to the foremost barracks, where there was nothing beyond a bar lowered from the outside. Truva lifted the beam and entered, paying little heed to stealth. She went from bed to bed rousing the fighters, many of whom were clearly too young to start their training, yet still they sat in the half light, rubbing their eyes and tumbling from their bunks.
"Truva? It's Truva! Truva's returned!" Whispers flitted around the barracks as older fighters who had witnessed her fight long ago informed the younger trainees, for some had even been born in the time since her departure. Their wide eyes and expressions of awe caused Truva's heart to constrict; these young children certainly could not join the company in battle, yet it was for their future that those who did join Truva's ranks would fight.
"Let us make haste," said Truva when all the fighters had been roused. She led the fighters out into the Compound, where they mingled among the Rangers and expressed their gratitude; yet they had grown too lax, and suddenly a slave owner emerged from separate quarters just beyond the far gates.
Truva scarcely had the time to react before one of the older fighters bounded across the packed dirt of the Compound and knocked the slave owner unconscious with a single blow. Several other fighters made as if to congregate on the slave owner, but Truva's voice rang out across the space.
"Wait!" she cried out desperately, and the fighters paused to look in her direction, confusion written clearly on their faces. "My friends, a great evil has been done upon you. I know, for I too suffered from it – yet do not allow it to consume you! Let us act with reason and purpose, and first hear all that might be said ere we act rashly."
As one of the Dúnedain moved forward to tie the slave owner's hands behind his back, a grumble of dissent spread throughout the fighters gathered there. Truva did not blame them, for once she would have reacted similarly; yet as she stood in the middle of the compound, surrounded by trainee and veteran fighters of all ages, she thought she could detect a faint lightening of the sky where it met the mountain ridges.
"My friends!" she called out once more, "It is time we all take what rightfully belongs to us: our freedom!"
With these words, a rousing cry flew up, and the fighters were content to follow Truva from the gates of the Compound, beyond which they came upon another group of fighters led by Chaya, having arrived from the nearest village. Their ranks swelled and became a giant stream, rushing through the banks of the market street like an unstoppable tidal wave.
The pink glow at the skyline had just barely begun to silhouette the mountain peaks by the time Truva arrived at the Coliseum, trailed by the mass of fighters that roiled like rapids wherever there was space to move. Rather than descend to the ring, however, as she had done countless times before, Truva ascended to the platform where fight commentators were accustomed to standing.
No sooner had she turned to face the Coliseum, its canvas ring and earthen stands entirely thronged with fighters of all Hidland origins, than a scuffle broke out at the main entrance. Several slave owners had arrived at last, and the masses could be seen shoving and pulling each other as infuriated shouts rang out. The tussle transformed into an onslaught as more free villagers appeared, having been roused by the noise, and immediately set about attacking the newly emancipated fighters.
Truva did not panic. She knew that any conflict between the fighters and their masters would end in their favour, for both the fighters' numbers and skills were superior; yet she did not wish for violence to overwhelm the message this day, and so she took to the centre of the platform and braced herself.
"Stop!" she cried, and her bold voice reverberated throughout the complex. All conflict halted immediately and a mass of faces turned to listen, suddenly silent.
Looking out upon the sea of expectant faces, a familiar sense of anxiety began to roil in Truva's gut, exacerbated by the knowledge that her one-time owner Dregant most likely lurked in the crowd somewhere, his depravity a phantom that haunted her always. Her breath came in short gasps, and her throat began to close; she fought back the images of days long ago in the Hidlands, of her panic at the Hornburg when falsely accused, or Truva would not allow her past to dictate her future, or impede upon her ability to fulfil the duty expected of her.
"I believe you know who I am," she said, her voice carrying to even the furthest onlooker. Energy thrummed throughout the crowd, and the fighters began to cheer and cry out in their exuberance. Truva held her hands up in acknowledgement, though she felt to be an imposter, out of place and false.
"Please," she implored, and she sought familiar faces amongst the multitude as the uproar began to wane. Here and there Truva saw those she had fought against: those she had beaten and those she had lost to. She saw old fighters she had learnt from and young fighters she had trained, fighters from her own village and those from neighbouring ones; fighters who had still been active when she departed the Hidlands as well as fighters she knew must have retired, only to be forced to work as servants or farmers or blacksmith assistants or bartenders – whatever role it was that their owners required.
As she scanned the crowd, Truva's eyes fell upon Aragorn's stony countenance, as unreadable as it had ever been since their departure from Imladris. It unnerved her to see the Ranger so entirely disconnected from unfolding events, yet upon finding himself under her gaze, the shadow of a smile appeared at the corner of Aragorn's lips. His first sign of warmth in days had a galvanising effect within Truva's heart, and she took a deep breath to begin in earnest.
"Long have we slaved under the thumb of those who care not whether we live or die, caught for centuries in a cycle of exploitation. The hope of obtaining our own freedom through sanctioned fights was a false one, a mere scrap thrown to us in the face of condemnable oppression." With each phrase, a great wave of cheers rose up and it took several moments for the voices to recede before Truva could resume.
"No Man has the right to treat another as we have been treated," she continued, stalking back and forth across the platform to release suppressed energy, for no longer did she feel the pangs of dread before her unfamiliar audience. "No Man can justifiably manipulate the life and wellbeing of another for his own profit. It is with this sentiment that I return to you today, and release you from your bonds that ought never to have been placed upon you."
When Aragorn gazed upon the Eorlingas warrior that strode confidently above the massive crowd, he was strangely moved by the figure she cut before her audience. When first he met her, Truva had seemed but a mouse to him, withdrawn and timid; yet as time passed, he began to discern strength in her quietude, and to respect her as the reserved individual that she was.
The commanding presence he now witnessed, however, demanded a redoubled sense of admiration, and gave rise to the kind of loyalty and fealty kings or great military leaders might rightfully expect. Aragorn was startled to find himself viewing the unassuming Eorlingas in such a light, yet a glance to his left demonstrated he was not alone in this sentiment, for Halbarad too hung on her every word, as did the vast majority of her audience.
"Even so, I must admit," Truva continued as the crowds grew hushed once more, "It is not with entirely altruistic intentions that I stand before you today. In our future loom forces far darker than any we have ever encountered in these lands.
"Unbeknownst to us, our people were blessedly spared many years ago from the destruction of a Witch-King and his followers by forces of Elves and Men, whose descendants stand among you this very day. The threat that descends upon us now, however, is an even greater evil; it will leave no crevice of Middle Earth unturned, and will surely find this place – perhaps not right away, but eventually even the Hidlands will fall.
"And thus, I offer you a choice." Truva's voice now rang with tearful entreaty. She endeavoured to steady its shake, yet the memories of horrors in weeks past – of conflict and death and loss – overwhelmed her. She paused a few moments to calm her breathing as confused murmurs rippled across the crowd.
"I offer you a choice," she repeated. "I believe the choice that lies before you to be thus: remain here and be overwhelmed by this new evil should it prevail against the forces we now send against it – or join us."
"It would not be cowardly to stay, for each of us was raised dancing in the palm of violence; let none judge another's desire to shed the mantle they have long borne until now. Some of you have families, as well, and there are young children to be cared for; I would not have us abandon them – if not to the misplaced mercy of slave owners or other malicious figures that still lurk, then to the torment of dehydration and starvation.
"There is yet further good that those who remain might see to. It is certain that we shall not succeed in freeing all our compatriots this very night, for the outer villages are too distant, and in many their slaves are more closely guarded. I ask that you release those who still remain in the clutches of servitude and begin anew a society, one based upon equality and prosperity for all."
"You have your freedom!" Truva shouted over the renewed swell of voices. "Yet should you wish to join us, we will provide horses and supplies. It will be a long journey south, then east, before battle – come when and where it may – and you shall receive training along the way.
"I cannot promise victory," she said, the sudden clarity in her tone implored those listening to take seriously the threat she warned of. Panicked chatter swept like wildfire among those gathered; even the slave masters, restrained as they were by the newly freed fighters, spoke frantically to each other. "I can only assure you that the stronger the front we present at the outset, the more likely we are to be victorious. Divided, we all shall surely fall.
"Whichever your choice may be, a fight is coming. To join with us now is to increase the force that rides out in opposition of the darkness that gathers even now in the east, carried by the conviction that all the good in the world – the good that you have not yet experienced with your newfound freedom – must never cease to exist."
The morning sun had risen higher now, and its rays reflected off the water cisterns placed about the Coliseum for fighters to wash and refresh themselves with. One basin caught the light just so, and when Truva stood then at the forefront of the platform, it shone directly upon her. For a moment she stood still, bathed in its light, breathing in the thin mountain air and shivering in the morning chill. Goose-flesh prickled on the skin of her arms, yet Truva knew not whether it was due to the cold or the significance of the moment.
"Are you with me?" Truva cried out, raising her fist in defiance, and a deafening roar rose in response. She gazed out across the Coliseum and took in the myriad of faces that looked to her, shaking their fists or clapping or hollering, and as she descended from the platform she allowed hope to seep into her heart and mind.
And then the path before her rose dauntingly, wispy ghosts from the past fading into nothingness behind, and new demons solidifying out of dark smoke ahead. The entire journey northward had drawn her increasingly away from the danger she knew to be inescapable, yet now that future towered like an unsurpassable monolith, one that she would lead all who trusted her toward.
Truva's newfound confidence waned, and she struggled to stave off the feeling that even now she was little more than a broken, emaciated fighter of the Hidlands, incapable of effecting any significant change. When she encountered Aragorn and Halbarad at the bottom of the platform, they could not help but notice her ashen countenance, and Halbarad gave her shoulder a brief pat as the Dunedain fell in step beside her, yet there were no words that could be said.
They wove through the crowds and came at last upon the entrance of the Coliseum, and it was there that Truva caught a glimpse of her previous owner, Dregant, leering from the sidelines amongst the other slave owners restrained by the fighters. She involuntarily clutched the arm nearest her, fingers wrapping tightly around Aragorn's wrist, yet she quickly composed herself.
She halted the progression and approached the mass of slave owners, pausing a short distance away as she surveyed their expressions, which ranged from craven to defiant. She selected her words with great care before speaking.
"You have abused us," she said. "You have exploited man, woman, and child, used us for your own personal gain, broken us physically and mentally, then discarded us when we no longer suited your purposes. For these wrongdoings, your forgiveness is dependent solely upon those you have wronged.
"I cannot promise forgiveness from those you have inflicted anguish upon, yet you might begin the journey of amending your transgressions, should you choose to join us. The threat we now face supersedes the existence of any single individual; all your misdeeds combined would not even begin to compare to the complete desolation that gathers now in the rising darkness. Let us come together in opposition of this strengthening evil.
"Let me be clear, however: should you violate our trust in any way, your existence shall be forfeit."
Truva knew not what drove her to invite these tormentors among their ranks; for while it had been easy to sympathise with the Dunlendings, the wounds that these villagers had scored upon her flesh and that of her brethren ran deeper than her conscious mind could account for. Despite existing in a culture where such brutality normalised, how could they have looked upon the tortured faces of their living property and been unmoved?
Even still, the need for sheer numbers surpassed Truva's own moral misgivings. If the battle at Hornburg was but a prelude to the clash that was yet to come, she shuddered at the thought that a more perilous threat lurked still.
The villagers, stripped of their ill-gotten livestock, now muttered amongst themselves. "Anywhere's better'n this here wasteland," said one, and several others voiced their agreement.
"You need not give me your decision now," Truva rushed to add, "For it is not one to be made lightly. You have until our departure, which is nevertheless sure to come anon."
She turned then from those who were the source of her frequent nightmares, and looked out from the lip of the Coliseum into the crowd, searching for familiar faces. She spotted Chaya, as well as Harrodoc – her thousandth opponent – and Blackbramble, his massive hulk easily distinguishable amidst the others. Truva motioned for them to join her.
"What is the longest we might reasonably delay our departure?" she asked of Aragorn as the three fighters arrived in breathless anticipation.
"It would be far preferable to leave this very day," he replied, though he did not meet her eyes, for it was not an answer he wished to give. "There are already a great many Hidlanders gathered here – far more than I anticipated – and I suspect our greatest foe now is time."
"We must grant at least a little time to those who have travelled to the far-flung reaches of the Valley," urged Truva. "Even several days would not be sufficient for all who would come to arrive."
"Indeed, it is a three day trek from my own village," said Chaya.
"In our present circumstances, a day is surely all we can afford," said Halbarad. "Let us withdraw from the Hidlands tomorrow at dawn."
"One day is better than none," said Truva resignedly, then addressed the fighters. "What are your intentions; do you wish to stay, or travel south?"
"I will go," said Chaya. "I must go."
"As will I," added Blackbramble.
"I believe it is my duty to remain behind," said Harrodoc, and Truva wondered whether it was wise to hope he might be relied upon; yet though he had once been her nemesis, she believed his perpetual self-interest would in fact prove beneficial to securing the welfare of those who would continue to live in the Hidlands.
"Very well," said Truva. "We must first see to the needs of the fighters, for they will require a great deal of food and medical attention. The influx of new arrivals means we must also find sufficient sleeping quarters."
"I will go and handle such matters," said Chaya. "I have grown familiar with this area and the fighters here, and together we will find what is needed."
"Allow me to assist you," said Blackbramble, and the two fighters went off in search of supplies.
"I believe it would be remiss of us if we did not offer the service of the Rangers," said Halbarad. "Given your permission, we shall set up a watch, or any other service you might require."
"Your offer is greatly appreciated, although perhaps you might also guide the Hidlanders who are to remain in such activities," said Truva. "It will become their duty when we are gone."
"Certainly," he said. "It would be a pleasure."
"Harrodoc, go with Halbarad and mount a patrol to guide the stragglers into the village, and to forestall any conflict that might arise between the fighters and their owners," ordered Truva. "Organise groups you trust, if possible, and inform all that we leave tomorrow at first light."
"There are also a few Dúnedain among our number whose culinary excellence would be best served in that area," Halbarad added, and as he spoke, half a dozen of his men stepped forward to demonstrate their willingness to aid in that endeavour.
"I cannot thank you enough," said Truva.
"It is naught but services we ought to have rendered long ago," said Halbarad with a wan smile, and he turned then to lead Harrodoc and the remainder of his fighters away on patrol. Aragorn still lingered, however, and desperate to escape his impassive expression, Truva quickly guided the half dozen Rangers to the main market, where she found Chaya ransacking the stalls there.
"They fed us nothing save their scraps for years!" she said, anger cutting through her voice as she and a group of other fighters amassed an impressive collection of food, Blackbramble keeping at bay the villagers distraught at seeing their wares distributed equitably. "It is high time we ate like the Men we are!"
"There are those here who would help you to that end," said Truva, indicating the Dúnedain, who introduced themselves briefly before bringing order to the chaos. They organised ingredients and set fires in the very street itself, directing fighters in the preparation of meals, and soon they were distributing food as rapidly as it could be cooked.
Truva herself refused multiple offerings, and instead wandered off in search of Harrodoc's patrols, who had already encountered refugees from nearby villages. She directed the newcomers in the direction of the market before making a circuit of the village herself. Old rings, the Training Compound, cage upon cage – the sights caused painful memories to resurface, yet Truva's heart gained solace from the knowledge that no fighter would ever be forced to suffer in the way she and the others had.
As the sun reached its climax and began to descend toward the western mountains, Truva returned to the entrance of the village, and in passing noted that food continued to be distributed in the market. Many of the fighters carried their supper to the Coliseum, where throngs of the newly emancipated had congregated. Fearful of being left alone, they preferred to gather with their own kind, for though their history was marked by combat, they felt far more secure in each other's company.
Nor was their fear wholly unfounded, for the circulating rumour was that the free villagers had staked claim to a side street just beyond the market, and while Truva felt some responsibility toward all those whose lives were uprooted by the unprecedented change, she harboured absolutely no desire to ensure the needs of the free villagers were tended to. Even should they be planning mischief, she was confident in the fighters' ability to thwart it.
And so the gathering settled in for the night, swathed in blankets and bellies full of the sustenance conjured by the Dúnedain. Finding Truva upon the platform overlooking the congregation, Halbarad mounted the steps and sat beside her, offering her a blanket Chaya had procured.
"You have done well today, leader of the Hidland army," he said, his tone lighthearted yet his meaning sincere. "We shall set out with several hundred more than we Dúnedain had hoped for – enacting justice in the process."
Truva turned her face to the wan light of the moon. "The events of today were insignificant in comparison to all that has occurred of late, and that which I fear is yet to transpire. And still, to each fighter we have given the world; we must do our utmost to ensure that their freedom is not squandered."
Halbarad likewise turned to look skyward. "I believe you, of all people, understand how best to deliver unto the Hidlanders their deserved future, having made the same journey yourself."
"Perhaps," said Truva, though her thoughts were stretched in a thousand directions. She felt concern for those fighters who still remained trapped in the outskirts of the Valley, and for the ones making their way toward the Coliseum even now. She wondered at the emotions of the free villagers, and how they might behave come morning.
She thought also of her King, and how the muster of the Mark was progressing. She thought of Éomer and Éofa, Éowyn and Éomód, Héodis and little Fulmod, and what they might be doing at that very moment in time. And though she did not quite understand why, she also felt worry for Aragorn, whom she had not seen since morning, and whose exceptionally inexpressive demeanour recently caused her worry.
"We must see what tomorrow brings," she said at last, and curled up beneath the blanket, though sleep would not come to her that night.