Author's recommended listening: Ravel, String Quartet in F major
CHAPTER XVI: THE HIDLANDERS' CHOICE
Palpable energy thrummed within the Coliseum the following morning as newly emancipated fighters and free villagers alike gathered in anticipation of their departure. Tension between the two factions ran high, yet the Dúnedain and a handful of the more level-headed fighters wove in and out of the crowd, soothing altercations and separating quarrelsome individuals.
In the dim light of pre-dawn, Aragorn threaded his way through the masses and mounted the steps to the platform where Truva and Halbarad sat in silent contemplation. "We depart at your call, leader of the Hidlands," he said.
"Let us set out even now," said Truva, rising. "I am well eager to be gone from this place."
"Will you not address your people once more?" asked Halbarad. "A great many were stirred by your rousing words yesterday – perhaps you might convince one or two who are yet undecided to join our ranks."
"Those who will come, will come," said Truva, for though a fleeting thrill had brought upon her uncharacteristic loquacity the previous day, the feeling was gone from her now and her stomach turned at the prospect of speaking before the throngs that crowded the Coliseum. She instead descended from the platform and exited the amphitheatre, making her way toward the village entrance, followed closely by Aragorn and Halbarad. When she came upon Harrodoc, she extended her hand, and in shaking it he expressed all that words could not.
Without any further direction, the fighters fell in behind Truva. They streamed from the Coliseum and surrounding fighters' quarters, where many who arrived late in the night had slept; and they swept past the worn market stalls and dilapidated hovels, coming at last upon the path beyond. Perhaps it was because Rangers continued to patrol the area, or perhaps the Hidland villagers who had chosen to remain behind were hesitant to abandon their position of strength in the marketplace, yet they encountered no obstacles as the light of dawn broke from the cover of the mountains. The company passed through the mouth of the valley unchallenged and arrived at the Dúnedain camp just past midday, greeted by the Elven brothers.
The Rangers guided the Hidlanders toward the horses provided by Elrond to varied reactions; some fighters took immediately to the giant creatures while others shrunk back in fear. It required a tremendous amount of time to convince many of the necessity of riding, though the Lord of Imladris had been circumspect and provided only the most patient and even-tempered of mounts. It was at great last that each Hidlander found themselves in a saddle, learning the basics of how to ride and control their horses.
The shadows of early afternoon were beginning to grow long when the massive company finally departed. Truva rode with Aragorn and Halbarad at the front of the column while a score of Rangers guarded the flanks, the remainder of the Dúnedain making up the rear. Their travel was unhurried at first to ensure the Hidlanders' comfort and ease, though the pace gradually increased as even the most hesitant of fighters grew accustomed to their horse's movements.
Even so, the company was only able to travel a short distance ere night threatened to fall. Camp was pitched, the effort slowed as the Dúnedain demonstrated to the Hidlanders how to unpack their rucksacks, as well as the use of its contents. When the fighters discovered the provisions within, the Rangers struggled to impress upon them the need to conserve their supplies, for as ravenous as the fighters were, it was unwise for them to eat so much after having been starved for so long. Sheer numbers would also make foraging for the entire company along their long journey impractical, and thus they all settled in for the simplest of meals.
Truva reached into her own pack and found to her surprise that it was crammed with greenery she had certainly not stowed herself. A hand snuck past her and snatched one of the bundles, and in spinning around Truva found herself face to face with Halbarad, who gleefully unwrapped the leafy package.
"Lembas!" he cooed, stripping the last leaves away from a thin wafer and snapping off a corner, offering it to Truva. "Have you ever tasted the waybread of the Elves?"
"I cannot say that I have even heard of it," Truva replied, accepting the piece from Halbarad. He quickly stayed her hand as she brought it to her mouth.
"More strengthening than any food of Men, they say. Best to eat slowly – and not too much; just enough to stand guard throughout the night."
She glanced after him in curiosity, then followed in his wake as he wove through the lounging fighters and made for the edge of camp, toward their watch position. The Dúnedain had agreed it would be best if their men alone posted watch that night, leaving the Hidlanders to spend the first night of their journey in repose, and so Truva bade each a good night as she passed.
She feared exhaustion would overtake her despite her best intentions, for on their journey northward neither she nor Aragorn had bothered to keep guard, small as their party was – though in retrospect she wondered whether the Ranger's late nights and early mornings might in actuality have had some secondary protective purpose. Despite her concerns, however, the lembas enlivened her, and the hushed conversation she shared with Halbarad ensured that she did not grow drowsy as they gazed out into the undisturbed darkness.
During a lull, Truva turned suddenly to her companion and asked, unprompted, "What can you tell me of the Stone of Eärendil?"
"The Elessar?" said Halbarad, his tone noncommittal.
"Do not feign ignorance," said Truva.
"What makes you suppose I have any knowledge of it?"
"The flash of green light," said Truva. "You gasped when it fell into the waters of the lake in Rivendell, the night of my arrival. Ever since, Lord Aragorn has not worn the Elessar about his neck; I therefore believe the Stone and light to be one and the same, and that you know the significance of this treasure."
"And what of your own knowledge of the Elessar?" asked Halbarad.
"None, save that it was a gift, and Lord Aragorn protects it with his life," answered Truva. Halbarad paused to measure his words.
"It was forged in a land beyond Middle Earth, that mortals know little of. Legend has it that the great being Olorin brought it to our shores, and through several hands it passed until at last it came to the Lady Galadriel of Lórien, who in turn gifted it to Aragorn," said Halbarad, as if reciting some well-versed lore, and Truva dared not interrupt him.
"It is said that those who look into its stone see things that were withered or burnt healed again, or as they were in the grace of their youth; and that the hands of he who holds it bring to all that they touch healing from hurt.
"As the legend goes, 'One shall come who is to receive it, and his name shall be that of the stone: Elessar he shall be called,'" said Halbarad, lapsing into silence.
"That is to say, Lord Aragorn," said Truva.
"I suppose," said Halbarad. He drew several long, deep breaths as if to speak again, but did not. Disoriented by this sudden influx of information, Truva followed the Ranger's example, and the two allowed stillness to preside for the remainder of their watch.
Truva awoke early the next morning, and when she sensed that the morning light was soon to emerge from behind the eastward Misty Mountains, she began to rouse the nearest Hidlanders. Many were sore, their bodies loath to move after the previous day's riding, yet the exuberance with which they greeted another day of freedom gladdened Truva's heart.
No sooner had she reached the far side of camp, waking each fighter as she went, than Truva suddenly found herself face to face with Aragorn. His face appeared especially haggard, wan and unshaven, and Truva's mind returned to the conversation she had shared with Halbarad the previous night. She saw once more that Aragorn bore no ornamentation about his neck, though she was quick to look away when her eyes met his. They stood hesitantly for a spell, each with their separate thoughts, before Aragorn finally broke the silence.
"I have good reason to believe the Hidlanders' hand-to-hand combat is unparalleled," he said, "Even so, I should like to set up camp early tonight and instruct them in the ways of weaponry. I would ordinarily expect this task to fall upon myself, yet in these unusual circumstances I suspect you might be met with more success than I, for it is clear these fighters trust and admire you. You will, of course, have the Dúnedain's assistance, as well as that of Elladan and Elrohir. Will you take up this task?"
Perturbed by Aragorn's tone, which had grown increasingly cold and formal ever since their time in Imladris, Truva was somewhat taken aback. She merely nodded in acknowledgement before turning sharply and stalking off in search of the one creature who ever soothed her soul.
Bron had wandered off as he grazed in the night, and though he had clearly eaten his fill, Truva offered him an apple she had pilfered from the breakfast table in Rivendell. The fruit quickly vanished between his nibbling lips, and Truva wondered whether it was possible to love a creature more.
The Dúnedain were soon showing the Hidlanders how to repack their rucksacks, and assisted them in mounting their horses again – a task which took significantly less time than the previous afternoon. It was not long ere the company rode out again, hugging the foothills of the Misty Mountains as they made their way southward.
They did not rest save for a short break around noontime, and in the evening Aragorn called a halt far earlier than usual. "Set up camp quickly!" he called out to the company. "When you are done, gather in the grassy area to the south."
The new recruits scurried about pitching tents, assembling the cooking station, and striking fires in the way they had been taught the previous night. As they did so, only the most necessary number of Dúnedain set out to patrol or forage.
"Impressive," Aragorn remarked to Truva as they observed the Hidlanders assemble with alacrity, having seen to their duties.
"We spent a lifetime being taken advantage of," replied Truva. "Given the chance to prove our worthiness, it becomes our turn to take advantage." Aragorn shot her an unreadable look – perhaps a cross between pity and admiration – before bowing in deference to her, signalling for the training session to begin.
A mass of expectant faces turned toward Truva. Under different circumstances, she might have felt extreme discomfort; yet even as she looked out over the fighters, nothing save composure existed in her mind, some modicum of confidence that lingered from her speech in the Hidlands. She paused to absorb the energy that emanated from the gathering, then spoke:
"Let us begin with drills."
Truva led the fighters through a series of light exercises that all the fighters of the Hidlands knew by heart, having been taught from their very first moments of training. Only the free villagers struggled to any great degree, though one or two of the Dúnedain, unfamiliar with the exercises as they were, also required several attempts to learn.
Once their bodies were limber, Truva began the transition to instruction. "It is possible to teach the basics of weapons combat with no weapon, and as we have no mock staves to use today—"
Halbarad cleared his throat conspicuously, interrupting Truva. When she turned, he said, "In truth, all fighters have been supplied with both staves and swords. A lucky few even bows."
"Is that so?" said Truva. "Wonderful news! Well, tonight we shall progress without weapons, as we are already so far along, but from tomorrow I ask that you all bring your staff to training."
And with that, Truva guided the fighters through the very drills she herself had learned from Éomer years ago. The fighters grasped the movements quickly – perhaps even quicker than Truva had – and the patterns were certainly not new to the Dúnedain; the Hidland citizens, however, cursed as they struggled to pick up what seemed easy to all others.
When the darkness began to grow deep, a peculiar mood of satisfaction tinged with frustration filled the air as Truva led the company through a series of relaxing exercises before concluding training. The company was dismissed to their remaining nightly chores, and as she sat watch Truva mulled over how best to ease the discontentment of those unfamiliar with physical combat.
There was a dash to the galley tent as those Hidlanders whose duties had either been completed or came later in the night rushed to secure their meals. It brought a smile to Truva's face, yet she lingered at Bron's side, allowing the others to eat first. There was little camp to be pitched, for the increasingly fair spring weather – and an aversion to any unnecessary work – meant that the vast majority of the company made do with little more than their cloaks; those provided by Lord Elrond had proven exceptionally warm. Even so, Truva refused to replace the earthen brown one she wore, for it was that of her people, the Eorlingas.
When at last the queue had grown short, Truva strode across camp to collect her own supper, yet as she did so she passed the lonesome figure of Aragorn poring over a map. She continued to glance over her shoulder at him even when she held out her bowl to the distribution line at the galley tent.
"I am terribly sorry, Truva, we've not much left," said Halbarad, on cooking duty that evening. He distributed a pile of greens into her bowl, then placed a meagre serving of dry, roast pheasant on top. "We've scarcely three quarters of a meal for you as it is. You should have come sooner."
"It is of little consequence," she replied. "I've a great supply of lembas still; and the others require more substantial sustenance than I."
"Even so, you must not neglect yourself," he said, yet his words fell on deaf ears, for already Truva was turning from the tent and making back toward Bron. Of their own will, her feet came to a halt halfway, Aragorn fixed squarely in her sights. He appeared so absorbed in thought, and she knew not whether she had the courage to break his concentration; the cold manner he had taken on in the past several days likewise gave her pause, and yet it was that very remoteness that drove her to approach him.
She extended the bowl toward Aragorn, in much the same way he had done for her long ago upon their journey from Edoras to Helm's Deep. He glanced up at her, only to turn back to his map without accepting the bowl.
"I have already eaten," he said curtly, though Truva was determined not to be rebuffed by such aloofness.
"I would have thought all the lands of Middle Earth had been committed to your memory long ago," she said, taking a seat in the grass before him.
"Your assumption is not wrong – and yet there is something reassuring about a physical depiction of the lands I know so well, about the tangible feel of a map between my fingers," he said, offering the map to Truva. She hesitated, not having expected such candidness after the past few taciturn days, yet she took the map into her hand nevertheless. It was an impressive work, for each minute detail – many of which she was unfamiliar with – had been hand-stitched with a rainbow of threads into a swathe of fine silk.
"Is there something that upsets you, my Lord?" she asked, brushing her fingers over the embroidery as she located the Mark out of habit. "Something that drives you to seek such reassurances?"
"Might I not ask you the same thing?" he countered. "Why is it that you sought out my company this evening?"
Truva pondered all that she wished to ask this leader of the northern Dúnedain: about what events had caused him to revert to his austere self, what future it was that drove him to find solace in a map, what misgivings he harboured regarding the future of Théoden's forces.
"I fear for the Hidlanders, my lord," she said at last. Perhaps her own insecurities would serve to draw the Ranger from his armoured exterior. "The discrepancy between the fighters' skills and that of the free villagers is vast, yet I am certain even those most familiar with combat will find themselves overwhelmed when thrown into the depths of battle."
"Your concerns are understandable," he said, absentmindedly picking up the bowl Truva had laid before him and wrapping a slice of pheasant in a wild garlic leaf. She watched as he placed the morsel in his mouth, waiting to ascertain he had swallowed before continuing.
"Have you no words to ease my worry?" she asked, her voice a mere wisp upon the light evening wind.
"If such words were upon my tongue I would surely speak them, yet I fear we have not the favour of time," he said, turning his gaze squarely upon her. "Even so, I do believe that under your guidance, the Hidlanders shall prove of far greater worth than any expect."
"Above all else, Théoden King is in need of adept warriors," said Truva. "Yet even knowing our plight, I am burdened by an overwhelming desire to protect the Hidlanders – for even if they were to develop the skills required, they have no true understanding of this world or the horrors we are yet to face. It was not so long ago that I myself was as ignorant as they, and I do not see how I can in good conscience thrust them unprepared into the fate that is sure to await."
"It is of no surprise to me that you are moved by such compassion," he said, "Yet do you not owe it to the Hidlanders to allow them to make such a choice for themselves? I say this not as a leader desperate for warriors, but as one who likewise feels the need to shield those who must look to others for protection: those Hidlanders who remain behind, and the Eorlingas who shelter even now in Dunharrow. This is a sentiment I am certain you share, and I imagine many of your fighters share as well.
"Moreover, having seen the force that Saruman levelled upon us – and knowing full well that Sauron's might is greater – I suspect the Hidlanders might not be afforded the luxury of choice," he concluded. His eyes remained upon Truva; she found their intensity too great to bear, and so her own gaze dropped to her lap.
"Will it not be all for naught?" she asked, her voice hushed. She had come to unravel the strange mood that had fallen upon the Ranger, and found her own self exposed instead.
"Who can say?" said Aragorn, taking another bite of pheasant. "All we can do is all that we are capable of."
And so her heart felt lighter, yet it was with no greater understanding of the suddenly introspective Ranger that Truva wrapped herself in her drab cloak that evening, to snatch what sleep she might before the morn.
The following day passed similar to its predecessor, with an early rise followed by an easy pace throughout the day, though it was with staves in hand that the Hidlanders amassed for training in the evening. Truva strode through their ranks to form pairs, matching fighters she knew to be accommodating with the more pugnacious free villagers. For herself she selected Dregant, not only to ensure that the pace at which she taught was appropriate for all, but also to demonstrate her own willingness to overcome division.
It was with trepidation that she looked into her former owner's eyes, for she saw the anger that still smouldered there. He said nothing, though he had no need to. Truva wondered why he had elected to accompany them if he continued to resent her so, though she had no choice but to set her doubts aside and face the Hidlander.
She once again instructed the recruits on the basic formations they had learned the previous day, eventually supplementing the patterns with a few additional steps. Upon her request, the Elven princes Elladan and Elrohir – particularly skilled with bow work – took aside those who had been provided with that weapon and began to show them the foundations of archery.
In large thanks to the Dúnedain's patience when instructing the free villagers, the air of frustration seemed to be greatly reduced at the end of training that day. Dregant had been obedient, if not pleasant, and Truva was grateful to emerge from the interaction unscathed; even so, she could not shake her concern for the fury that radiated from Dregant, and determined to keep a particularly close watch over his actions.
In the days that followed, a pattern developed: the company would ride out at dawn, take lunch when the opportunity arose, then make camp early and train while there was still light enough to see by. The Dúnedain began to pair up with Hidlanders to form watch and patrol units, demonstrating to the newcomers how a true fighting unit operated – indicating what sign of threats to look out for, what foods to forage for, and all other manner of useful information.
Everything progressed smoothly until the fifth day.
When Aragorn called a halt that evening, the Dúnedain and Hidlanders set about their duties as had become their custom. Discord arose from one corner of the camp, however, and it escalated even as the ranks gathered for training. Rather than aligning in orderly pairs, a group of disgruntled free villagers clustered at the front of the company, facing off squarely against Truva and the other leaders.
"You ask too much of us!" shouted Dregant, clearly the ringleader. "We came with you only so that we might escape the Hidlands and find new opportunities – not so that we might in turn become slaves ourselves!"
"We could not have been more clear in our purpose, even before our departure," said Truva calmly, though a hint of indignation wafted through her mind. "We seek to stop a common enemy, and to that end we must train to ensure the greatest likelihood of survival – for all of us."
"You drive us like livestock!" complained another villager. "And strip us of our humanity!"
Truva's eyebrows shot upward, for she knew the speaker to have been a particularly brutal slaver, and for him to complain of being treated like livestock struck a spark of fury within her breast; yet even as she moved toward the Hidlander to confront him, Aragorn laid a staying hand upon her arm.
"I understand your frustrations," he said to the free villagers, his voice low and unfaltering. "We find ourselves facing extraordinary times, not always knowing the right path to choose. Though you have made it thus far, you need not go any further, and may part company with us at any time. If that is what you wish, take your horse and your supplies – for they were provided to you freely – and go."
Members of the group mumbled amongst each other for some time, though their tone shifted and they spoke no longer with a grumble of discontent, but a murmur of approval. At last they seemed to come to a decision, and without a further word or a backward glance they moved off toward their mounts and left the training area behind. It did not evade Truva's notice that the group was comprised exclusively of slave owners and free people of the Hidlands; all emancipated fighters remained behind, watching those who departed with judgemental, unappreciative eyes.
Truva was loath to see the company sundered, for it meant their already meagre numbers grew even fewer. She felt as though she had failed her King and all those who anticipated her return with reinforcements. Even so, she found sympathy in her heart to call out after the departing Hidlanders, "I hope your new life brings you freedom from your past misdeeds, and joy for the future that is yet to come."
Dregant gestured lewdly before disappearing into the throng of retreating figures. They packed their rucksacks and departed in groups, some making back toward the Hidlands, others separating northwestward in the direction of the Bruinen and the East-West Road. Those Hidlanders that remained watched in silence, even as the last free villager faded into the descending darkness. Truva took a deep breath and turned back to the fighters.
"The actions of others are not ours to control; it is only our own actions that lie within our power," she said, drawing their attention forward. "Let us carry on!"
As if awakening from a spell, the fighters leapt into action and resumed training, suddenly far more enthusiastic to assist the few free Hidlanders that had chosen to remain behind. The tension of the past several days resolved, relief hung in the air when Truva brought an end to that evening's training and sent the recruits to their duties.
She had just finished her own task of assisting the cooks with food distribution when a pair of figures approached, one of whom Truva recognised as Chaya. The other was an immense boy, hardly sixteen summers, sporting the same sandy blonde hair as his companion. He walked with an easy gait, surprisingly comfortable in his body for someone so young – a typical attribute of fighters forced to begin training far too early.
Chaya waved in greeting when they drew nearer, though her expression remained stormy from the confrontation earlier. "You were far kinder to the slave owners than many of us would have been," she said.
"Perhaps too much time has elapsed since my own enslavement," said Truva, shaking her head. "It is easier to act with forgiveness when old scars have long been healed by the loving salve of friendship."
"I hope that we might one day feel that salve, as well," said Chaya.
"May it be so," said Truva, a wan smile upon her lips.
"I would like to introduce my brother, Eilif," said Chaya, urging her companion forward.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Eilif," she said, extending her hand, which he shook enthusiastically.
"The pleasure is entirely mine," he replied. "I have heard many stories of you from my sister, though it was not but a few nights ago that I was finally able to confirm the legend with my own eyes."
"I am no legend," said Truva, "Nor am I deserving of such status. It is your sister to whom I owe my freedom."
"Your fight with my sister was only one among all the others," exclaimed Eilif. "To have secured your own freedom through one thousand victories is undeniably worthy of legend in and of itself; yet to return and save those left behind, it is doubly so!"
"You have freed us both," said Chaya. "I thought I alone had been taken from our home, and that my brother remained safe. It was not until later that I learned they had taken him, as well."
"Being unable to defend myself was a failing I could humbly pay the price for," said Eilif, anger and frustration simmering in his voice, "Yet I curse myself to this day for having failed to protect my sister – it is something most unforgivable!"
"None have the right to subjugate another without their will," said Truva. "You must not blame yourself for the misdeeds of others. Yet you are free now in body, and I hope one day so too will your mind be free. In the meantime, we shall do what we can to provide a better life for you and Chaya than any you would have endured in the Hidlands."
"Even your words are that of a hero," said Eilif. "Now, if you will excuse me, I've watch I must report to."
He turned and departed suddenly, so the tears that sprang unbidden to his eyes would not be seen. Chaya watched her brother go with an affectionate smile, though her face fell when she observed Truva's stony expression.
"You think he should not have come," said Chaya.
"He is old enough to choose for himself what path he might take," said Truva, staring after the boy. "Who are we to say yes or no, stop or go, when he has at last rid himself of his master's whip? I fear we shall all soon face a destiny which we would not have chosen for ourselves, if indeed the choice had ever been ours. Whether he rode with us to meet that fate directly, or had waited for it to reach him in the Hidlands, I believe there would have been no great difference."
"You speak of things that have not yet come to pass, and may never come to do so," said Chaya as they turned and walked together toward the thick of camp. "Perhaps it is best if we allow each trial to materialise before we despair."
"You are right, of course," yet the dispirited mood that had overtaken her was hard to dispel. Truva waved a quick goodbye to Chaya as the fighter moved off toward her camp, yet no sooner had she done so than she spotted Halbarad a short distance off, gesturing for her to join him and Aragorn beside a small fire.
"What a dramatic turn of events this evening!" exclaimed Halbarad as she drew near and took a seat in the grass directly before the fire, for the night had grown exceptionally cold.
"I do think it very fortunate that things did not come to blows," said Truva. "Though had tensions continued as high as they were, I am certain they would have in time."
"I have travelled throughout many lands and encountered a great number of peculiar characters," said Halbarad, "Yet even I must admit to feeling unsettled by those Hidland slave owners, and to being glad they are gone now from our company. Wholly mean temperaments, the lot of them!"
Truva glanced briefly at Aragorn in an attempt to discern his thoughts, yet his face spoke as openly as his words, which was to say not at all. Truva remained introspective a moment further before asking, "Do you suppose they might not cause greater chaos for no longer being under our watch?"
"Who can predict such things?" mused Halbarad. "Yet as you said, their actions are not ours to command. They flourish like weeds, sprouting where they will, and a gardener has little recourse save to extricate them when they cause greater harm than good. Your responsibility extends no further than to those who remain in your care."
"Even so, I cannot help but worry," said Truva.
"I suggest you spare yourself the trouble; we've enough to worry about as it is," said Halbarad, placing his hand on Truva's shoulder, then using it as a support to stand up, comically exaggerating his weight. "Well, I'm off! I've watch to oversee. There's a young lad by the name of Eilif – terribly enthusiastic, but the poor sap can scarcely keep his eyes open for five minutes!"
And with that he walked off toward the edge of camp, disappearing into the darkness. Truva watched him go, wondering whether she ought not follow his example and take her leave of Aragorn, whose pensiveness weighed heavily as ever. He stared into the fire as though he had made no note of their conversation, and was seemingly unaware of Truva's scrutiny.
Perhaps she might at least make an attempt, she thought to herself. "Your beard has grown remarkably long," she said. Her mouth snapped shut in surprise at her own remark, her face immediately drawing into a frown. Oh, the banality! Of all the thoughtful, eloquent ideas that swarmed in her mind, she had chosen to comment upon some superficial aspect of his physical appearance! What fey mood had possessed her to speak such words?
She made as if to flee in her shame, yet the most peculiar sound drew her back: a chuckle. Not a deep, hearty laugh, yet something not unlike a subdued hint of humour. Truva peered at the Ranger, only to find her own scrutiny turned upon her.
"Is that so?" he said, his shoulders shaking in quiet mirth, and once more Truva caught a glimpse of Strider as he rubbed his sharp chin, where the hair had indeed grown long. "I have not shaved since that single night in Edoras, long ago. Are you suggesting that I ought to?"
"I believe you cut a striking figure either way," said Truva, once again reprimanding herself internally for giving voice to such peculiar thoughts. She remained half poised to run away as Aragorn gazed at her, a thoughtful look upon his face.
"A barrel of apples rots from within," he said, the humourous light in his eye suddenly dimming.
Truva's frown deepened. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"The Hidlanders that have chosen to leave," he explained. "They could easily cause just as much damage – perhaps more – if they remained in our company. The only way to preserve healthy apples is to separate them from those that are rotten. Do not judge yourself too harshly."
A wisp of a smile fluttered across his lips, then once more he descended into the pensive mood that had gripped him ever since Rivendell. Truva knew that was an unmistakable signal to take her leave, and so she rose at last to make her way back to Bron. Even as confusion continued to crowd her mind, she shook out her bedroll in preparation for sleep and the coming morning.