Author's recommended listening: Mendelssohn, String Quartet in F minor
CHAPTER XVIII: EILIF'S FINAL REST
Truva awoke to the blinding light of early day, in precisely the same infirmary she had brought Aragorn to so long ago, before the Battle of Hornburg. She found herself entirely alone, no healers there to order her about, the white canvas draped along the walls deadening all sound. A strange, earthy scent wafted from the weedy flowers placed in basins near the entrance.
When her memories of the previous night came flooding back, Truva leapt up from the bed, though she immediately found herself face down upon the floor, a spasm of pain shooting up through her right leg. Glancing down, she could see nothing save cumbersome swaths of bandages, and in pulling herself upright she only caused the rest of her body to lecture her for the mistreatment she had subjected it to. Ignoring the agonising pangs, Truva crawled to the entry, using her throbbing arms to brace herself between the walls as she made her way along the passage.
She had gone but a short distance when she encountered Halbarad, who emerged unexpectedly from around a corner. "Where exactly do you think you are going?" he exclaimed, obstructing her path.
"I must ascertain the wellbeing of my riders," said Truva determinedly, for the pains of her body were slight in comparison to the grief that tormented her heart. "Those who fell yesterday—"
"Absolutely not!" Halbarad said, his arms clinging to Truva's as she sought to pass him. "You are in no state to be up; Aragorn's orders were that you are to rest! I can explain all that has happened, if only you'll return to the infirmary—"
"I must see for myself!" Truva cried, tears threatening to well in her eyes, and Halbarad saw that his attempts to restrain her were futile; he relented, and supported her as she continued down the passageway.
Truva once more took in the views of Hornburg, which were far more inviting now that the symptoms of war had been cleared from the surrounding area. She was relieved to feel the absence of any chill on the air, as well – yet at the same time it caused her to worry, for the absence of the fellbeast around Hornburg meant its presence elsewhere, and Truva's thoughts turned to worry for her King and the other Eorlingas.
She stepped into the main keep unceremoniously, leaning heavily upon Halbarad as she slipped through the doors. The entire company had gathered there, some eating breakfast, while others were clustered together in surreptitious conversation, yet all activity halted the instant she entered, and a shocked silence fell over the assembly. The hush was only broken when Blackbramble's booming voice gave a great cheer, which was quickly taken up by the other Hidlanders. They swarmed about Truva before she could move more than a few steps, and she greeted each one in turn as they clamoured for her attention.
When she caught sight of Aragorn and the sons of Elrond sequestered away in a corner, Truva gave a signal to Halbarad and they steadily made their way in that direction, still taking time to acknowledge each fighter who approached. Before they reached the corner, however, Chaya emerged from the throng, standing directly before them.
Truva stood motionless, for she knew not what to say or do. How was she to explain Eilif's death? How could she possibly put into words the guilt she felt for once more having proven inadequate to protect those precious to her? Yet even as these thoughts raced through her mind, Chaya had in an instant thrown her arms about Truva's shoulders. Ignoring the pain that accompanied such a crushing embrace, Truva returned the gesture, and the fighters clung to each other, each too distressed to speak the emotions that coursed through them.
"I am so sorry, so sorry," Truva finally gasped through her sobs. "If only I could have done more!"
"None of us can do any more than all that we are capable of," said Chaya, pulling Truva even tighter. Halbarad heard the disturbing shift of displaced bones and made as if to separate the two, though Truva waved him off.
Aragorn stood quickly and made his way across the hall toward them, for in noticing the interaction he had grown concerned for the physical wellbeing of his patient. "With little ease do we say our final farewell to our loved ones, or a leader don the mantle of protecting others," he said when he drew near. Chaya slowly released Truva and gave her arms one last squeeze before a cluster of fighters folded the grieving sister of Eilif into their embrace.
Aragorn was slightly less forward in his support, yet he allowed Truva to lean on his arm as they drew back into the corner. Even Elladan and Elrohir, as cold and unfamiliar as their Elven ways were, consoled her with caring touch upon her shoulder. Overwhelmed with emotion, Truva sheepishly brushed the tears from her eyes, but Halbarad caught her arm.
"There is no shame in shedding tears amongst friends," he said.
"Halbarad spoke to me of what occurred after crossing the Fords," said Aragorn. "You demonstrated impressive leadership, and I fear we would have lost a great many more had you not taken the actions you did. It would have been best if you consulted with others before making unilateral decisions, yet I understand the circumstances did not lend themselves to extensive discussion."
Truva could not find the strength to reply, and merely hung her head in response. Aragorn reached out a hand and lifted her chin, so that her eyes met his.
"Truly," he said, with a look that conveyed meaning beyond words, "You saved the lives of those who rode with you."
"He was but a child," Truva whispered tearfully.
"He was man enough to choose his own destiny, and he chose freedom," said Aragorn, "Freedom that you gave unto him."
Truva's mind was in such disorder that, though she knew a response formed somewhere within its recesses, she was not able to locate it or give voice to it. She wordlessly accepted Aragorn's reassurance, and the group fell into their own respective thoughts a while until Halbarad spoke.
"What remains to be seen is how we proceed from here," he said.
"According to the guards that remain behind in this fortress, Rohan's forces have long ago amassed in Dunharrow," said the Elven brother Truva thought to be Elladan, "Though even now more travel from across the lands of the Mark, as we do."
"Our need for haste cannot be understated, yet it is far too late to depart this day if we hope to reach Harrowdale by nightfall," said Aragorn. "I advise we wait one more day, then leave in the early hours of tomorrow morn."
"We do not wish to risk the reappearance of that winged beast," added Halbarad.
"It is a wise plan," Truva agreed.
"If there are no objections, I will inform the others," said Halbarad, departing to his task.
"Very well," said Aragorn, turning to Truva. "You must rest." He threw her arm about his shoulder and made as if to lead her from the hall.
"I am fine!" said Truva, drawing her arm back. "I wish to speak with the others."
"Is that so?" retorted Aragorn. "I suppose you are capable of walking without aid, then."
He stepped back a few paces and stood stolidly, arms crossed over his chest, as Truva balanced on one foot in an attempt to project the appearance of standing on two. Her gaze shifted about the hall, looking anywhere save at Aragorn as he stared at her, unconvinced.
"Are you not going to talk with the others?" he prompted after several moments elapsed and Truva did not move further.
"I shall go talk with the others," she said stubbornly, yet as soon as Truva put her toe to the flagstone floor, her injured leg gave out beneath her. Aragorn was instantaneously at her side, lifting her back to her feet.
"Do not be obstinate," he lectured. "There is nothing more any of us can do today. We know not what may come upon the morrow; take advantage of this day so that you can lead your people then with renewed body and mind."
There was no countering his logic, Truva saw, and so she allowed herself to be led back to the infirmary where she lay once more upon the bed. Rather than leaving her to rest, however, Aragorn turned to the basin and the peculiarly scented weed contained within.
"It is more potent when dried and steeped in hot water," he said by way of explanation as he ground the leaves into one palm with the heel of his other hand, "Yet one must make do with what is available."
"What is it?" inquired Truva.
"Athelas, also known as kingsfoil in Gondor, or asëa aranion to those of old."
"I have seen it before, yet I thought it was nothing more than a weed."
"As do most from whom the knowledge of its healing powers has slipped away," said Aragorn, then commanded, "Lay back."
Truva rested her head upon the pillows, and breathed in deep as Aragorn smoothed the refreshing poultice across her forehead and along her arms, where spectacular bruises had begun to blossom. "It smells like… horses after a long ride in winter, when steam rolls off their back and there is fresh hay in their stall to greet them."
"To me, it smells of the sea," said Aragorn.
"Does the sea smell like horses?" asked Truva, though she immediately regretted her question when Aragorn broke into laughter.
It chafed somewhat that she had been the source of his amusement, yet it also brought her a great sense of relief. She and the Ranger had begun to overcome their turbulent introduction during their journey northward, or so she had believed; and thus when his demeanour once more grew aloof following their departure from Rivendell, she feared she had unwittingly done him some wrong. To behold him laughing so openly and good-naturedly for the first time since their initial meeting was a wondrous thing indeed.
Aragorn rushed to cover his mouth with his hand when he noticed Truva's ambivalent expression. "Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you; but no, the sea does not smell like horses."
"What does it smell like, then?" asked Truva, curious despite herself.
"I will not describe it to you, in the hope that one day you shall bear witness to the sea yourself, with a mind absent of any preconceptions formed by my words."
"I dare not have such grand hopes," said Truva drowsily as little by little the athelas eased her pain. She knew not whether she spoke more, for a fog crept through her mind, obscuring the border between wakefulness and sleep.
Sometime later, the boundary between sleep and wakefulness grew hazy yet again, and Truva found her blurred vision taking in the infirmary brightened by the strong rays of early afternoon sun. An indistinct figure sat upon a low chair beside her, head bent in repose, the hood of their dark mantle shrouding their features. The only thing that appeared clear in her vision was a spray of pure white simbelmynë in their hands. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the figure leaned forward and placed the flowers upon her bedside table. As they neared, Truva thought she could discern a sharp chin and rough beard, yet she could not be sure in her delirious state as the gentle waves of oblivion washed over her again.
When she drifted back into consciousness, the long shadows thrown through the infirmary door suggested the time was well past noon, nearing suppertime. Truva looked up and saw that the seat beside her was occupied by Halbarad, completely absorbed in the contemplation of something he held in his hands: simbelmynë.
When he noticed her stirring, Halbarad leapt to his feet, saying, "Ah, sorry, I did not mean to wake you!" He then called out in a louder voice, "Aragorn!"
"Coming, coming!" said Aragorn's voice just outside in the hall, and he swiftly appeared in the doorway, hands ladened with a large bowl.
"She is awake," said Halbarad.
"That is good news indeed," said Aragorn, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. "How do you feel?"
"Stifled," said Truva. "Might I not go for a stroll about Hornburg, and breathe in the fresh air?"
"Absolutely not," Aragorn insisted. "I believe you broke or bruised nigh on every bone in your body when you fell from such a height. We must see that you recover to the greatest extent possible before tomorrow, so rest," he said, laying a hand upon her shoulder to suppress her attempts to rise. Truva fell back in defeat.
Aragorn passed to her the bowl he had carried in. "Eat," he ordered.
Truva did not feel particularly inclined to eat, and when she saw the bowl was full of steaming soup, her body protested even further. Between the pleasant weather and blankets wrapped tightly around her, Truva was positively sweltering, yet one look from Aragorn indicated she had no choice. She reluctantly put spoon to bowl, only to find the soup refreshing and invigorating.
"And what of Bron?" she asked as she downed mouthful after mouthful under Aragorn's approving watch.
"He is faring far better than you, I suspect," said Halbarad. "It was but superficial scratches he suffered, and seems rather to be enjoying the attention."
"May I see him?"
"Of course you may see him," assured Aragorn, before firmly adding, "Tomorrow."
His tone left no opening for contradiction, so Truva resigned herself as she set the empty bowl aside and settled in to rest. Aragorn again bathed her body in athelas, and her perception of the world grew indistinct once more.
"Is not the Rohirrim's relationship with simbelmynë a complex one?" she heard Halbarad ask, his voice filtering faintly to her ears. Perhaps Truva caught a glimpse of him placing the cluster of flowers upon her bedside table, and perhaps Aragorn's voice responded through the watery depths as her vision once more transitioned to blackness, but she could not be certain.
It was in the wee hours before dawn that Truva was shaken awake by one of the sons of Elrond. "Lady Truva, it is time to rise," he said. "I am sure you wish to pay your respects before the burial."
Momentarily disoriented, Truva strained to focus on the words that swam incomprehensibly in her mind. "Not a lady," she mumbled before sudden realisation dawned upon her and she cried out, "Eilif!"
"Yes," said Elrohir. "The ceremony will be held shortly."
Truva did not pause to hear his final words. She leapt from the bed, body screaming in agony, and dashed toward the door; yet even as she turned to leave, the white bundle of simbelmynë caught her eye. She took it gently in her hands and ducked out into the passageway.
Though she could not move nearly as quickly as she was accustomed to, Truva's body was in far less pain than it had been just the evening before. She quickly came upon the keep, only the silence that met her this time was not one of joyous surprise, but of solemnity. Upon a dais in the very centre of the hall lay the body of Eilif, shrouded in a dark veil, beside which Chaya sat. Truva limped to her friend's side, wordlessly helping her to rise and supporting her as they approached the dais.
Halbarad stood as well and hovered in the space beside them. "It is time," he said, laying a hand on Truva's forearm before turning to Chaya and taking her hand in his. Chaya nodded in tearful acceptance.
"I will bear the pyre," said Truva, neither her tone nor her stony countenance brooking any argument. Halbarad shifted uncomfortably, though he knew there was little he could do to convince her otherwise.
"It is you, Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir who shall bear it, then," he said, then to Chaya he asked, "Will you lead the procession?"
"Only if you follow directly behind," she said. "He and I both owe you a great debt; were it not for the succour of you and your Dúnedain companions, Eilif would never have had so much as a hope for living once more a life of freedom."
"I know not whether I have the right to accept such an honour, yet I will do as you ask," said Halbarad. With that, Aragorn and the sons of Elrond came forth from the gathered warriors. They arranged themselves about the dais, and together with Truva raised the pyre upon their shoulders. Chaya led them from the hall and down the flights of flagstone steps to the gate, Halbarad coming next, followed by all the Dúnedain and Hidlanders.
It was a sombre procession, for there was no music to accompany their dispirited thoughts. Each fighter was left to ruminate silently as they descended into the valley beyond the fortress walls, where three mounds – two large and one small, demarcating the final rest of those warriors who had fallen during the assault on Hornburg – rose up just before Helm's Dike. Eilif was placed beside the third, smaller mound, where a freshly-dug grave scored the earth. As they lowered his pyre into the grave, Halbarad passed to Chaya a lit torch.
"I do not know the customs of your people, and am only passingly familiar with the burials of the Rohirrim. We thought it best to honour him in all ways possible," he explained.
"In the Hidlands, our dead are snatched from us and dumped as carrion for the mountain wildlife," said Chaya. "While there is some poetry in taking one's place in the balance of life, I believe this is a poignant way to honour his memory."
"Are there any words you wish to say?" asked Aragorn.
"None that have not already been spoken in my heart," replied Chaya, lowering the torch to the pyre upon which Eilif's body rested. It was soon engulfed in scarlet flames that leapt skyward, mingling with the crimson light of the rising sun that bathed the mountains' eastern sides. Truva offered to the fire the simbelmynë she had carried, then lingered with eyes downcast, momentarily overwhelmed. She took Chaya's hand, and Blackbramble the other, and each fighter clung to that slight anchor which tethered them to the world.
The company stood in silence as the morning light descended further from the heights of the mountains, and the blaze roared to towering heights before gradually dying down. When the flames turned at last to embers, The Hidlanders began to bury the pyre, piling the earth high until it was nearly level with its companion hill.
The gathering began to migrate back toward the fortress then, wiping dirt and sweat from their brows. Last to leave save Chaya, Truva jumped when Aragorn approached from behind and gently brushed her elbow. He gestured toward the three barrows that rose beside the newly constructed grave.
"The smaller Down belongs to Háma, and the others to the fallen warriors of the East- and West-mark," he murmured. "The guards of Hornburg explained to us all the work they had done since our departure."
"Háma was as loyal an Eorlingas as ever there was," said Truva, the hollowness in her heart suddenly smaller for Aragorn's words. "It is an honour that Eilif will take his eternal rest at his side."
"I believe the honour lies with the Rohirrim, for they welcome into their midst a hero of the Hidlands who died in defence of all that is good in this world."
"May it be few in number who are destined to follow in his footsteps," she said, half to herself. They returned to the fortress in the wake of the others, Halbarad passing on his way to offer Chaya escort. Truva allowed Aragorn to support her across the field and up the causeway.
"Will you be able ride?" he asked as they ascended the steps toward the inner stable.
"I must," said Truva. Spying her pack placed at the end of a stall, she made directly for it and fell immediately upon Bron, embracing his solid frame and finding serenity in his implacable calmness. She spared a few moments to brush him down – not for any sense of neglect shown by the stable masters, but merely because she craved bonding.
She mounted up, ignoring her body's furious protests, and followed the stream of riders who guided their mounts out beyond the stables toward the main gate. The Dúnedain and Hidlanders amassed quickly, and Aragorn sat foremost amongst them, positioned high upon a hillock with the bearing of an indomitable captain. When Truva peered closer, however, she could see exhaustion ringed his eyes and concern pulled at the corners of his mouth; he appeared as though a decade had passed since their departure from Isengard.
Halbarad and the sons of Elrond accompanied Aragon, and together they cut lordly figures as their mounts sidestepped in anticipation. Despite their haggard appearance, pride welled in Truva's heart to see such gallant leaders take the helm before her people.
The morning sunlight had hardly descended to the topmost heights of the fortress, leaving the valley still in darkness, ere Aragorn stepped forth and raised his voice to address the company.
"Far have you travelled, and great has been your exertion since departing the Hidlands; yet the path before us shall be far more arduous than that by which we have come. This is certainly not your last opportunity – though perhaps it might be your best – to part ways with us and evade the dangers that are sure to come," he called out, yet his audience was as unwavering as his voice. Not one Hidlander so much as twitched a muscle to indicate hesitation or desire to turn back.
"Onward!" shouted a voice, and the call echoed throughout the ranks as it was taken up by all. Onward! Onward! A faint smile spread across Aragorn's lips as he turned Hasufel about and picked up the cry himself.
"Onward!" his voice rang out clear across the Deep. As one the fighters spurred their mounts forward, driving up out of the valley. Aragorn once more set a furious pace, met with unspoken acknowledgement that they must make Dunharrow by nightfall lest they face for a third time the terror of the fellbeast.
Sunlight streamed down heavily as the day wore on, exhausting rider and horse alike. The company paused in brief waves just before midday, when they encountered a tiny spring of snowmelt that trickled down from the mountain, yet for the most part they were determined to continue on.
The riders were rife with nervous gestures as they continued to check the position of the sun in the sky. Some used shadows to gauge the time, others held their fingers aloft, yet it was always with anxiety that they turned forward again and drove harder. As the sun slowly began to sink at their backs into the western sky, riders whispered promises of undisturbed rest and unending treats to the creatures that bore them, their pace ever quickening.
Tears of sympathy welled in Truva's eyes as Bron's breath began to draw up short. He had faithfully born her for so long, and was clearly pained by the injuries he had sustained from the fellbeast. Truva could not deny that she had demanded more from him in the past few days than she had ever asked before; the pangs that shot through her own body seemed inconsequential to the trials she knew her companion to be suffering.
Late afternoon transitioned to early evening, and still the riders pressed on. Truva grew apprehensive, for over the years her visits to Dunharrow had been infrequent, and she could not tell whether their surroundings were becoming familiar or if she was simply imagining it. Disconcerted, she pulled ahead to Aragorn, who still led the company.
"How far have we yet to go?" she asked.
"Not far," he replied. "I am not nearly as familiar with the Mark as I am with the North, yet I have spent more than enough time here to know that we are close." Noting Truva's fretful expression, he continued, "I would never ask an impossible task of those who look to me as leader. We will make it before nightfall."
"I trust you," said Truva. Her response was simple, though she meant it with all sincerity; even still, it was with misgiving that she watched the sun draw closer to the western horizon.
To her dismay, Truva's alarm proved to be justified when a shadow passed over the canopy of trees that descended along the foothills of the mountains. There was no cloud cover and so the source of the shadow would seem inexplicable, yet the riders knew what lay in store by the chill that swept across the company.
"Onward!" Aragorn cried with perceptible desperation in his voice, though he strove to suppress it. Truva fell to the rear once more to encourage stragglers, yet each sweep of the ghastly silhouette drew more panic from the Hidlanders, complicating her task.
"Do not fear!" she shouted. "We are hard upon the Eorlingas hideout!"
Despite her assurances, however, the riders began to grow scattered, for a third attack proved overwhelming. Truva and Bron darted this way and that, herding back toward the main group straying horses whose eyes rolled and breath came in furious snorts. The horrors of the last attack still lingered frighteningly clear in their minds, and in the mind of Truva as well.
"Protection awaits at the sanctuary of the horsemen!" she called out, half to herself and half to any who might hear and gain heart.
Finally, in the gathering dusk, a screen of trees fell away to reveal a rocky outcrop that appeared at the far edge of her vision. "There!" Truva shouted, elated as she recognised the forest where she had once picnicked with Théodred and the others a lifetime ago. As disastrous as that escapade had proven, the looming tree line now promised an oasis. "That is where we shall find shelter! Onward!"
They were but a league from the tree line ere the spectre struck, its claws grazing the trailing members of the company who darted about to evade its attack. The sky was not fully dark, yet perhaps the creature sensed its victims slipping indefinitely beyond reach. Truva once more drew her bow to drive the creature off, wearied by the repetition and lecturing herself for not already having it in hand.
She need not have gone to the trouble, however, for as soon as she raised her bow to bring the fellbeast into sight, a volley was leased from ahead. A company of Eorlingas broke from the forest cover and rode out to meet them, and an onslaught backed by the full force of the Mark's army was unleashed upon the beast as it drifted over their established positions.
Under the Eorlingas' cover, even the slowest rider gained the cover of the forest unscathed. The dark spectre still lurked in the skies, yet Truva could breathe with relief, knowing that they now fell under the protection of the entire forces mustered in the name of the Riddermark.