Having once again realized one chapter was absurdly long, I have chosen to divide this from the previous chapter.
CHAPTER XIX: FEASTING AT DUNHARROW
Having at last gained the safety of Dunharrow and the forces amassed there, Aragorn led the company at a slow walk through the wood and along the Snowbourn, giving them time to catch their breath and count their numbers. Camped upon the riverside was row upon row of tents that stretched as far as could be seen through the trees – tents emblazoned with emblems Truva did not recognise from which hard, unfamiliar faces peered. To have gathered in Dunharrow meant they must be friends, she deduced, and yet she felt uncomfortable under their unyielding scrutiny.
A mass of people suddenly appeared before the newly arrived party, greeting the foremost fighters with rousing cheers, and it was with irrepressible joy that Truva spotted Héodis amongst their number. When their eyes met, Héodis unceremoniously pushed her way through the crowd as Truva veritably fell off Bron in an attempt to reach her faster.
Héodis threw herself upon Truva, wrapping her arms around the long-absent Rider with all the strength she could muster. "You're alive!"
"It would seem so!" said Truva with a laugh. She ignored the emphatic protestations of her broken body and returned Héodis' crushing embrace.
"I was so glad to hear news of your safety when the Eorlingas returned from Helm's Deep, but then to hear you went off on another errand immediately after—!" Héodis somehow succeeded in squeezing Truva even tighter, "I had half a mind not to forgive you!"
"I dearly hope it is the other half of your mind that now reigns victorious!" said Truva.
"It is – in part because Éomód is alive, thanks to you," she said, burying her face in Truva's shoulder. Truva thought she heard a slight sob of relief, though she could not be sure. When Héodis finally let go, her face was nothing but smiles.
"I had not much to do with it," Truva admitted. "I reckon Éomód kept himself alive well enough."
They stood chatting arm-in-arm together for quite some time, yet soon duty took over. While the majority of Eorlingas and their allies were overjoyed to welcome the Dúnedain and Hidland fighters into their ranks, others were eyeing the newcomers with suspicion. The Elves Elladan and Elrohir particularly drew concern.
Truva sidled through the crowd to where Aragorn stood, deep in discussion with a particularly stolid-looking warrior, garbed in massive furs despite the warming weather. She surreptitiously indicated that perhaps it was time to move on. Nodding in agreement, Aragorn took his leave of the warrior and whistled sharply for the fighters to regroup.
The company progressed further along the Snowbourn, past the bend in the river where Truva and Éowyn had once bathed in the freezing snowmelt. The creature they had spotted there, having disconcerted her so much at the time, seemed harmless in comparison to all the terrifying adversaries Truva had encountered since.
The riders plodded on until they reached the very Starkhorn mountain itself. From its base spread a vast field, lined wherever there was an inch of room to spare with tents and bustling soldiers, some of whom offered greeting or merely watched the company pass in silence. Truva waved in response to those Eorlingas she knew, and moved quickly past those who did not seem inclined to be friendly.
Once clear of the tents, the Hidlanders' path lay clear before them, rising zig-zag across the sheer cliff face. Even when Truva craned her neck back, she could scarcely make out the fires that demarcated the clifftop in the settling dusk. She paused a moment in awe of the tremendous mountain, then hurried to rejoin the others.
Aragorn led them steadily up the path, first this way then that, their progress encumbered by the fact that hardly one horse could pass along the path at a time. Truva marvelled at the design, and suddenly it was clear why Dunharrow had served so long as a refuge for the Eorlingas and those who had come before.
When at last the company reached the top of the cliffside, the lush Firienfeld spread out before them, appearing exactly as Gríma had described it to Truva years ago. The grassy area was littered with ornate tents, the largest of which sat some distance to their left. Its flaps flew open just as the foremost riders gained the field, and from it emerged Théoden King, accompanied by his advisors.
Aragorn at once stepped forward and swept into a deep bow. "King Théoden," he declared, "I present before you the lingering might of the Dúnedain. Though we number no more than thirty, each pledges his life to uphold what is right and just in this world."
"If these kingsmen be in any way like to yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such knights will be a strength that cannot be counted in heads," replied the King.
Then stepped forth the Elven brothers Elladan and Elrohir. "We bring greetings from our father, Lord Elrond of Imladris," said one, "Though it is of our own accord that we have come to fight side by side with the Warriors of the Horse."
"It is with great sense of indebtedness that we might also count such fine warriors amongst our number," Théoden King pronounced, his manner supremely diplomatic. From the group of advisors gathered behind the King stepped Legolas, who bowed to greet his kindred, for however different their lineage might be, the same light shone upon them. The Elven sons bowed in response, then retreated.
An uncomfortable pause stretched from one moment into three or four as Théoden King turned his gaze to the remaining fighters, some of whom continued to struggle up the path. Aragorn coughed subtly and nudged Truva to step forward.
"Demonstrate your pride to the King and his followers," he muttered to her. Truva started, realising suddenly that it was she the King expected to present the Hidlanders. She leapt forward, ignoring the pains that wracked her body, and knelt in reverence before Théoden.
"My King!" Truva cried, startling all present with the enthusiasm that rang in her voice. "Please allow me to introduce the fighters of the Hidden Lands. Though we be not much to look upon, we possess the unteachable gift of unrelenting spirit!"
"It is a spirit I have witnessed many a time within a great Eorlingas warrior I know; she goes by the name of Truva, and all those who bear her spirit I welcome with deepest gratitude," Théoden King said magnanimously, stepping forward and offering his hand to assist her in rising. A twinkle sparkled in his eye as he laid a hand upon her cheek and added softly, "Dearest daughter of Eorl."
Truva's breath caught in her chest to hear those beloved words of acceptance spoken, though the moment was fleeting, and Théoden King turned quickly to address the others. "I believe there are some who would accuse me of being too selfish with your time, for there are a great many others who wish to greet you."
As he spoke these words and stepped aside, Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, as well as their Hobbit companion Meriadoc, all moved forward to greet Aragorn – yet Truva had no eye for this reunion, for foremost behind the King stood Éomer, beaming with pride and happiness. Despite the pain that still gripped her body, Truva darted forward and threw herself with a complete lack of decorum into the arms of her longtime leader.
"Éomer!" she choked out as he immediately returned the gesture, wrapping her in his arms.
"I knew you were too stubborn to die!" he laughed as he pulled her closer, and Truva's physical suffering disappeared far faster than if any amount of athelas had been applied. Éomer released her then, only to pass her on to Éofa, who stood just beside him.
"It is a terrible relief to see your bright countenance again! With the appearance of the fellbeast, and the length of your journey—" said Éofa, unable to finish the thought. He buried his face in Truva's hair to hide his tears, then turned her to the next figure who waited anxiously.
"Éowyn!" Truva exclaimed, greeting the shieldmaiden with outstretched arms. "Oh, how I have missed you!"
"And I, you!" cried Éowyn. "Things here have been terribly mundane without you!"
"I believe this reunion demands a magnificent spread!" Théoden King declared, clapping his hands. This had been anticipated from the very instant the approach of the fighters had been sighted, however, and already the King's chefs were bustling about their tasks. They pushed past the trailing Hidland fighters – some of whom still stood upon the Stair of the Hold – to descend below and prepare the feast.
"You will find accommodations set for your fighters within Harrowdale," said the King to the newly arrived company, and they carefully turned about with only the slightest murmur of annoyance. Truva clasped hands with Chaya, who had dismounted directly behind her, and they began to follow the others back down.
"I ask, however, that our leaders take up residence on the Firienfeld, for I might require their counsel quite suddenly," the King added. Truva continued without marking his words, for she assumed he referred to lord Aragorn and the Elves. It was not until the Ranger caught her elbow, bringing Truva up short, that she understood the directive applied to her, as well. She watched bemusedly as even Halbarad returned to Harrowdale below.
With horses in tow, Truva and the others were shown to the picket line that sheltered the grandest creatures boasted of by the Eorlingas. Truva tied Bron off, and envied his obliviousness to social sanctimony and his complete absorption in the fresh hay that attendants offered him.
From there, the sons of Elrond were led off by Éomer as Éowyn first showed Aragorn to his tent, then directed Truva to another just a short distance away. "It is humble, is it not?" she said, holding open the flaps to a darkened tent, "Though now that you have returned, I suspect we shall not remain here long."
"It is a fair improvement from my accommodations – that is to say, the wilderness – this past long while!" said Truva as Éowyn entered and ignited a lamp, the light of which revealed a fur-lined cot, in addition to a low trunk that served as a table between two portable stools. She took a seat upon one, and motioned for Éowyn to take the other. "Come, sit. I have news."
"What news?" Éowyn asked.
"It is both good and bad—" Truva began, though she was promptly interrupted by Éomer thrusting the flaps of the tent open.
"Éomer!" Éowyn protested. "What manners to enter a lady's tent with no warning!"
Éomer appeared momentarily confused before declaring, "Ah—ah, yes! A lady's tent! I clear forgot!" He then burst into laughter. The occupants of the tent glared at him, for they were far from amused.
"I may not be a lady, per se, yet I am female," said Truva, which only served to redouble Éomer's mirth.
Éowyn pursed her lips at Éomer's obstinate obliviousness. "What is your business here?" she demanded of her brother.
"The King requests that I accompany the newly arrived captains down to Harrowdale where as great a feast as might be held – given the present circumstances – is to take place."
"You may proceed without us," said Truva. "We shall be down shortly."
"As you wish," said Éomer, ducking out of the tent. Truva allowed a short period to elapse before peering beyond the tent to ensure that he had truly left, then turned back to Éowyn.
"As I was saying, good news and bad news," she said as she hastily began searching through her pack for a change of clothes that was not unpresentable and filthy. "Do you recall asking me to inquire after the jewel that hung about Lord Aragorn's neck?"
Éowyn gasped. "I do, though it seems so long ago now! What of it?"
"The unfortunate news is that it was a symbol promising him to a woman – and not just any woman; one of most distinguished descent."
Éowyn threw herself upon Truva's cot. "I should have known!" she cried in despair. "Naturally such an endearing, valiant man could not exist in this world without being betrothed."
"I have not finished!" Truva said. "It is true, he was promised to the ethereal Elven daughter of Elrond and Celebrían, named Arwen. I myself have met her, and it would do her great injustice to say she is one of the most enchanting, beautiful spirits ever to walk this Earth – yet therein lies your hope, for it will not be much longer that she lives among us; she is bound to the Grey Havens, then on to Valinor, the land of the undying."
"Speak plainly! What is your meaning?" asked Éowyn in consternation.
"My meaning is that, should you search for that jewel upon Aragorn's chest this very night, you will not find it," Truva said, exasperation seeping into her voice, for despite having emptied the entire contents of her rucksack onto the floor, she had found nothing save revolting, pungent garments.
Éowyn leapt up and gathered Truva into her arms. "You speak the sweetest of news! How can I ever thank you for bringing back Aragorn alive, and in such a position?"
"Gratitude is hardly in order," muttered Truva. "I do believe the cost of one soul's joy is the heartbreak of two," but Éowyn listened not. With a brief glance of disgust about the tent, the Eorlingas maiden thrust Truva out onto the field, where they promptly collided with Éomer and Aragorn.
"Ladies," said Aragorn with all formality, though Éomer merely saluted with a sheepish grin.
"I thought you had departed for the feast?" accused Truva.
"I spoke to you first before I came upon Aragorn," said Éomer. "We go now in search of the Elves. Are you not intending to change into something less… travel-worn?" he said, indicating Truva's unpresentable garb, having struggled for an inoffensive way to describe her terribly repulsive clothing.
"We are in the process of finding suitable raiment at this very moment!" Éowyn declared, before darting off once more with Truva in tow, leaving the pair behind.
"You do not suppose they heard our discussion?" Éowyn asked, her worry evident.
"I do not imagine so," replied Truva. "We spoke rather quietly, after all."
"I hope you are right," said Éowyn, pausing to scrutinise Truva from head to toe, then suddenly changing directions. She led Truva back across the lawn toward a structure of wooden frames hung with light linen divisions. Éowyn held one curtain aside to reveal a large washbasin, saying, "There is no sense in putting such a filthy body into any sort of finery!"
Truva struggled out of the numerous layers of clothing, carefully unravelling the bandages that were wrapped tightly about her leg, for though Aragorn's touch of athelas had already effected a remarkable improvement, the strain of the day's events had not been conducive to its healing.
Truva lowered her aching body into the surprisingly warm water, and though she longed to soak for hours, Éowyn was not content to sit so long. She disappeared without a word, then reappeared suddenly with an elegant gown in hand, which she thrust between the curtains.
"Why in Helm's name would you travel with such a thing?" asked Truva, incredulous.
"I myself packed only a few simple shifts," said Éowyn, "It was instead my keepers who thought it would not do to have the leader of the Eorlingas tramping about in plain linens, and so they collected a wardrobe they considered 'appropriate' for a 'true maiden.' Well, their foresight ultimately served some purpose, so I suppose I ought to be thankful!"
"I should sooner walk the Paths of the Dead than wear something so unbefitting my unrefined figure!" said Truva. "And if it is yours, it will certainly not fit me, for you are far too tall."
"Nonsense," said Éowyn, amused by the recollection of teaching Truva that very phrase so many years ago, beside the Snowbourne – not so far from where they stood now. "Try it on."
Truva emerged from the tub and shrugged into the gown, marvelling at its beauty, for even the burgundy gown of Héodis' she had donned at the first feast in Edoras seemed homely in comparison. She brushed her fingertips over the silver braided accents admiringly, caressing the milky lace as it slipped through her hands over her head and dropped to her very toes.
"It is as I expected!" Éowyn exclaimed when Truva pulled aside the curtains. "Indubitably perfect."
"I have never worn anything nearly so luxurious," said Truva, her heartbeat suspended in wonder.
"Gold is far more commonly worn among our people," said Éowyn, adjusting the fit of the dress here and there, "Yet silver suits your dark hair and sensibilities better – for you are nothing if not singular."
She directed Truva to sit upon one of the washing benches and set upon her hair, skilled fingers weaving Truva's dark, unruly locks into elegant braids within moments. Truva was thankful for the expediency for she was, above all else, truly ravenous.
When Éowyn completed her task, they strode hurriedly side by side down the Stair of the Hold, where the commotion of the feast below rose up to greet them. Drawn to the smell of food, Truva's pace only increased despite the pain in her leg, her frustration mounting with each successive switchback to Éowyn's mild amusement. After what seemed to Truva to be a great eternity, they arrived at the bottom of the cliff face.
Very few fires had been lit out of an abundance of caution. Truva hoped to keep within the deep shadows to avoid detection, so that she might sit at the tables where the Hidlanders and her Eorlingas friends dined, yet as soon as she and Éowyn appeared, they were spied by Éomer. He paused to gaze in admiration, then nudged Aragorn, who sat beside him. The Ranger turned at once and froze when his eyes fell upon the two. Everyone seated around the table – including Éofa, Halbarad, and the sons of Elrond – ceased their animated discussions when they discovered the source of Éomer's speechlessness.
Quickly recovering from his shock, Éomer rose at once from his seat and called out, "All hail Truva, a hero amongst our people, bringing hope when we believed there none to be found!"
Those fighters seated close enough to hear Éomer's words over the commotion of the feast all raised their glass in unison, crying, "To Truva!"
Théoden King, seated at the head of the table directly beside Éomer's, also raised his glass, as did the Marshals Elfhelm and Erkenbrand, and the King's guests of distinction: Legolas and Gimli, and his new squire Meriadoc the Hobbit. That such grand figures would be encouraged to salute in her name caused Truva to feel supremely uncomfortable.
She glared at Éomer as she and Éowyn approached the table where he beckoned them to take a seat. Truva nodded to the Elven brothers who sat across from each other on Aragorn's other side, greeting Halbarad and Éofa in turn as well. When Éomer offered Truva his seat, Truva yielded it to Éowyn, so that she might sit beside Aragorn. Truva then took a place directly beside Éowyn, forcing Éomer across the table, next to Halbarad.
"Was that toast entirely necessary?" she said to Éomer under her breath as Éowyn immediately turned to Aragorn and engaged him in conversation.
"Entirely!" said the Marshal, then hesitated before adding, "I have never seen you look so lovely."
"On the contrary," said Truva, a light smile playing upon her lips, "It is due only to extended absence that my beauty evaded your memory, and now that I have returned, you see me as I ever was once more."
"You have lost far too much weight," chided Éofa from across the table.
"You are too kind," said Truva, her expression impassive for comic effect. Éofa accepted a rack of pork ribs in its entirety from a passing waiter, which he unceremoniously deposited onto a plate. Ladening the dish also with fresh bread and an assortment of smaller morsels, he then slid the offering across the table to her.
"Eat," he demanded.
"Every single mouthful," said Éomer.
Truva followed their orders with enthusiasm, gratefully accepting the tankard of ale Éomer poured for her. As she ate, the Marshal and his captain launched into the tale of how they had fared since their parting – Éomer detailing several skirmishes with Orcs he had encountered on his mission to recruit Marksmen in the Eastfold, and Éofa ultimately concluding with the arrival of the fellbeast, which the Eorlingas had been able to fend off with some degree of ease due to the secluded nature of Dunharrow.
They proceeded to badger Truva with all manner questions concerning her own adventures, which she rebuffed at first so that she might recount the tale from the beginning. Éofa refilled her tankard as Truva detailed the uneventful ride northward, then went on to describe the enthralling refuge of Imladris and the hospitality she had experienced among the Elves. She spoke too of the unprecedented events in the Hidlands, and the company's own experiences with the fellbeast, all the while her audience of two hanging on to her every word.
When Truva at last fell silent, she glanced about the table to see whether her travel companions might have been listening, and whether they approved of her retelling of events. Halbarad and the sons of Elrond were wholly engrossed in their own conversation, and though Truva expected Aragorn to likewise be entirely engaged with Éowyn, it was with great surprise that her eyes found his.
Truva instinctively turned her head away in an instant, yet when she surreptitiously glanced back, the Ranger stared at her still with an unreadable expression upon his face. His features caught the torchlight, causing the spark in his eyes to twinkle and dance, and the pallid, wan complexion that he had taken on the past several days to warm. When last Aragorn had observed her with such scrutiny, however, it was because he had suspected her of being false, and so Truva shifted uneasily under his gaze.
Overcome with perplexity, she fumbled and dropped her fork to the ground. One server passing behind bent to retrieve it, at the same time providing her with a clean utensil. When the server's face fell into the firelight, Truva gasped.
"Gríma!" she exclaimed.
"My Lady," he said, bowing deeply before her. Truva shied away at his words, for regardless of how low Gríma's status had fallen, she was still no lady; yet she found herself unable to correct him, as no words would emerge from her mouth.
"Glad I am to see you returned safe from your journey," he continued, still half inclined, dark hair falling about his face. "I must extend my most ardent gratitude for your role in my pardon at Isengard. It will be my great honour to serve my life making amends for the horrors that have come to pass due to my unforgivable actions."
Still incapable of speech, Truva scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking her plate off the table as well in the process. Now that she saw Gríma's face before her, she realised how drastically his features had altered under Saruman's influence – not wholly unlike those of Théoden King. Devoid of the many markings of age he had borne in recent years, Gríma appeared decades younger, almost as when Truva first met him.
"Very well, Gríma," said Éofa, startled by Truva's sudden agitation. "I think you have expressed all that you might."
"For someone so graceful on the battlefield, Truva," laughed Éomer, righting her plate as Gríma returned to his duties, "Your propensity for clumsiness can be truly astounding at times!"
"She has not had the opportunity to readjust to his presence as we have," Éofa reasoned.
"That is true," said Éomer, "Though Gríma's behaviour since our departure from Isengard has proven that your words were not misguided, Truva. All misdeed and contrariness seems to have left him, and although he is but a shell of his former self, his good will is undeniably evident."
"The boundless power of Saruman's voice became increasingly apparent the further we drew from Orthanc, and were at last able to extricate our own selves from its clutches," said Éofa. "Darkness and weakness resides in the hearts of all Men, and so by mere fortune was it Gríma and not we who became ensnared in Saruman's fell web. Even so, I cannot help but wonder why the White Wizard allowed him to go."
"I do not believe we were acting either in favour or against the Wizard's wishes in welcoming Gríma back into our fold," said Truva who, having reseated herself, stared absently after the humbled man's bent, retreating back. "His servant failed him, and so he considered it no loss. I suspect that if Saruman still had a use for Gríma, he would be under the wizard's power even now."
"Or perhaps Saruman sent him on his way, so that he might yet serve some nefarious purpose?" said Éomer.
"I do not think so," said Truva. "Gríma no longer wields any power here in the Mark – and we will ensure that he never does again, now that the scales have fallen from our eyes. I imagine rather that the ease of Gríma's escape can be attributed to Saruman believing him useless; and my suspicions are doubly confirmed if what you say of Gríma's changed behaviour be true."
"It is intriguing how those most powerful ultimately fall victim to their own oversight," mused Éofa, and the others nodded their head in mute acknowledgement.
"I think I ought to greet the others," Truva mumbled after a time. She seized a decanter of wine and a flagon of ale, one in each hand, and – cognisant of Éomer's mocking words – was more careful than ever to fill her companions' cups with poise before moving to the table where Théoden King sat.
"Ah, Truva!" said the King as she filled his glass with wine, "Are you finding the feast to your liking?"
"I have not eaten such delectable food since your last feast, my lord," said Truva.
"If there is anything my time in the forces has taught me," chortled Erkenbrand Marshal of the Westfold, seated at the King's right hand side, "It is that no part of the body suffers more greatly from soldiering than the stomach."
"I could not agree more, my lord!" said Truva with a quick smile.
"I must admit, I have come to understand why us Hobbits are so reluctant to travel," piped the tiny Meriadoc from his place beside the Marshal Elfhelm of the East-mark. "Never knowing when your next meal might come is no way to live!"
"Aye, though I think it even more trying to be accompanied by such a vocal, pestiferous creature!" grumbled Gimli as Legolas laughed.
Truva filled their glasses one by one, watching in openmouthed fascination as the Hobbit downed the remainder of his ale in a single draught before holding his tankard out for more. She obliged, despite the fact that the Holbytla had clearly consumed more than entirely necessary already.
"Capital stuff, this is!" Meriadoc declared, "Almost as good as our autumn ales back home – about which songs are written!" At that, the petite being picked up a tune that relied more heavily upon enthusiasm than sensical words.
Truva would have lingered longer to listen to the Holbytla's song had not the presence of the Elf and Dwarf still caused her discomfort; for though they had not parted on wholly unfriendly terms, the strangers' accusations still bit bitterly into her heart, and Truva had not yet been granted the opportunity to overcome the division between them in the way she had with Aragorn.
She instead took her leave of Théoden King with a bow before traversing among the other tables, greeting old friends and welcoming newcomers, some of whom had heard tell of her history, most of whom had not. Talk of how the legends of the Hidden Lands were true – and that their slaves had come to join the muster – spread like wildfire, however, and Truva found herself followed everywhere by whispers.
She made formal overtures at the tables where the Dúnedain warriors sat, filling their cups and exchanging pleasantries, before eventually coming upon her Eorlingas friends. Héodis waved frantically, drawing Truva to where she and her family ate their meal, and Éomód rose at once to embrace her.
"I had heard from Héodis of your arrival," he said as Truva gave sleepy Fulmod (how he had grown!) a few pats on the head, "Yet it does my heart good to affirm it with my own eyes. Come, sit! Tell us of your tales!"
And so Truva found herself recounting once more the wild events of her journey to a chorus of gasps, exclamations, and questions from her rapt audience. Though she felt overjoyed to engage in conversation with her friends after having been parted for so long, once Héodis and Éomód indicated it was time to retire and put Fulmod to rest, Truva stood to join the Hidlanders a short distance away.
Even as she did so, Truva stole a glimpse over the heads of the vast gathering of revellers, back toward her original seat, only to find herself still under the watchful gaze of Aragorn. Disconcerted, she ducked her head and instead caught the eye of Chaya, who beckoned to her. Truva came at last to where the fighters of the Hidlands gamboled about rowdily, pausing only long enough to greet her with boisterous cheers.
"I see no one has warned you of the dangers of the liquid in your mugs!" Truva laughed. "Do you recall your staggering slave owners, incapable of their own accord, and who reeked of the foulest stench? The drink that in some part made them so is what you now hold in your hand."
Disgruntled murmurs replied, and several of the fighters peered quizzically into their cups before Truva continued, "I refuse to order you not to drink it, for now is one of your first opportunities to live as you wish. I merely suggest that you be careful; follow the jovial lead of those around you, and do not allow the alcohol to anger you as it angered our captors.
"Oh, and have a good supply of water available in the morning," she added with a wink. "To freedom!" she cried out, raising her flagon in toast.
"To freedom!" the fighters echoed in response.
"And to Eilif," said Blackbramble, his deep voice gruff with strained emotion. "Were he here among us, celebrating his own freedom."
Truva laid a hand upon his shoulder and looked to Chaya, whose brows were knit together. She spoke much more softly when she raised her flagon once again. "To Eilif."
"To Eilif," murmured the Hidlanders. Truva took a seat beside Chaya and wordlessly refilled her flagon. As Chaya returned the favour, the chatter of those around them resumed, the sombre mood rejuvenating to its previous spirit; even so, the two sat silent for some time ere they allowed the others to draw them back into conversation.
Truva drank amongst the Hidlanders for quite some time, even as the number of revellers at surrounding tables dwindled and the night grew deeper. When several of the fighters appeared as though they might fall asleep upon their very plates, Truva and the more sober fighters assisted the less sober ones return to their tents under the forest cover of Harrowdale, where they bunked together in twos and threes.
With each Hidlander in their proper tent – though perhaps a few were too inebriated to know in which tent they belonged – Truva began the trek back to Firienfeld, dreading the ascent of the Stair of the Hold, for she had eaten far too much and her leg still pained her greatly. When she came once more upon the tables of the feast, however, she observed Halbarad sitting still with the sons of Elrond, the three of them deep in hushed conversation. Noticing their dark expressions, Truva merely nodded in acknowledgement when they looked up, though Halbarad hailed her suddenly as she passed.
"Truva!" he called cheerfully, his voice belying the atmosphere of the scene. He motioned for her to join them. "We were just discussing the unparalleled conviviality of the Rohirrim!"
Truva's eyes flicked from Halbarad to the Elves, and while she suspected this had not been the true topic of their conversation, she said nothing.
"The atmosphere amongst your people is vastly different from what we are accustomed to in Imladris," said one of the Elves, "Yet it is not unpleasant."
"Indeed, I quite enjoy the rustic warmth," his brother added, and Truva chose to ignore the somewhat condescending nature of their words, for she knew they were intended kindly. Indeed, it raised her spirits to hear the Eorlingas referred to as 'her people.'
"We are nothing if not hospitable," Truva said with a smile.
"Verily. Now, if you will excuse us," said the first Elf, rising simultaneously with the other. "I suspect we shall be required to rise early on the morrow."
"Good night," said Truva. "I hope you find your accommodations equally to your liking."
"I imagine we shall," said the second amicably, and the Elves disappeared in the direction of the Stair of the Hold. Truva made as if to follow them, yet Halbarad bade her sit.
"A nightcap?" he suggested, holding aloft a decanter of wine.
Truva laughed. "I suppose one more sip could not hurt."
"Might I say," Halbarad murmured as he poured Truva a glass, and she returned the gesture, "You put the moon and stars to shame this night, resplendent as you are in that gown."
"Is it not a bit like putting a dragon in a dress?" said Truva wryly.
"Among your many skills, I see taking a compliment well is not one."
"Is that in turn some variation on a strange compliment?" she retorted.
"Are you incapable of taking even a strange compliment well?" he asked. Truva laughed quietly and admitted defeat by taking a sip of wine.
"So you count a Hobbit amongst your numbers!" he said, half question and half statement.
"Yes, it is a tremendous story!" Truva explained to Halbarad how a company had travelled to Isengard upon the conclusion of the Battle of Hornburg, the destruction of the Ents they found there, and the wee Holbytlas that had accompanied those treelike beings.
"Ents!" exclaimed Halbarad. "Never in all my travels have I seen one, though oft have I heard rumours that they walk the forests of the Shire. Even so, I saw only one Hobbit here tonight; what became of the other?"
Thus Truva wove tale after tale upon each of Halbarad's queries, he in turn telling her more of his own adventures in the north, and in time the few torches that remained lit began to sputter and burn out. Truva glanced about, startled to find they were the only revellers that remained, and wondered how time had passed so rapidly undetected.
"I suppose we had best retire to our tents," said Halbarad, following her gaze as he too became aware of the lateness of hour. "I believe Elrohir was right in that tomorrow will come far too early."
"I should hope not!" Truva exclaimed as she rose to her feet, catching herself on the table as she stumbled slightly.
"Steady!" said Halbarad, weaving himself as he attempted to support her.
"The blind leading the blind!" laughed Truva.
"Even so, I had best escort you to your tent. Though my own accommodations are here below and yours above on the Firienfeld, you ought not to walk so with your injuries," he said. They leaned upon each other in their procession back up the Stair of the Hold, chatting quietly and making jokes, smothering their laughter as not to disturb those already sleeping.
When they gained the clifftop, the duo began to walk along the grassy Firienfeld toward Truva's tent until, from the corner of her eye, Truva caught a glimpse of movement. She held up an arm to stop Halbarad, and they stood motionless as Aragorn emerged from his tent some distance ahead, crossing to the opposing row and announcing himself before entering the grand pavilion of Théoden King.
A lamp still burned from within, throwing shadows against the ornate canvas painted with a depiction of men and beast entangled in bloody combat: the Balchoth, and Eorl's victory over them in the Battle of the Field of Celebrant. Even as Truva gazed upon its entrancing scene, Halbarad pushed past her outstretched arm and crept across the grass to the side of the tent, pulling her along behind him, though she resisted all the while.
"You cannot possibly spy on the King!" Truva hissed under her breath as they approached the canvas. Halbarad did not respond, merely held a finger to his lips to hush her. She made as if to depart for her own tent, yet his firm grip – and her own overwhelming curiosity – prevailed.
"My lord," they heard Aragorn's voice say, low in the still of the night. Truva thought she could distinguish the shadow of three figures cast upon the sides of the tent, though they remained so motionless that she could not be sure whether they were truly people or merely inanimate objects.
"Speak, Thorongil," commanded the King. "Why is it that you seek my counsel at this late hour?"
Silence prevailed for a period of time ere Théoden King spoke once more. "You may speak freely before my sister-daughter. There is nothing you might say to me that she may not also hear."
The third figure must be Éowyn, Truva deduced. Was this perhaps the moment the shieldmaiden had so desperately yearned for, the moment of the Ranger's overture to her affections? For some inconceivable reason, Truva considered his actions somewhat overhasty, yet she could not rationalise such thinking. If Éowyn loved Aragorn as truly as she claimed to, of what consequence was it that the man of her adoration was swift in initiating courtship? Truva struggled to comprehend her whirlwind of emotions as Aragorn continued.
"I consulted with Lord Elrond in Rivendell, as we determined," he said. So the purpose of this meeting was not Éowyn after all, though Truva wondered why she felt such a sense of relief at this revelation.
"Excellent," replied Théoden. "And what was his response?"
"That the Elves of his house shall not join us in battle," said Aragorn. The King sighed heavily in the silence that followed. "Moreover, upon returning to Hornburg, I gazed into the palantír as Gandalf advised. I revealed myself to our enemy so that we might force his hand before he is fully prepared – yet I saw also a dire threat that emerges from the south."
At these words, Truva came to understand why Aragorn had appeared so utterly weary upon their departure from Hornburg. A mere moment of contact with the palantír so many years ago had left her entirely spent, yet to confront the enemy so squarely and brashly would surely have depleted the strength of even the most valiant of warriors.
"It is as I feared," said Théoden King. "The Mark finds itself abandoned in its greatest hour of need, possibly having incited action before we ourselves are ready."
"We must not give up hope, uncle," said Éowyn.
"Hope is no more than the prized possession of fools in such times," cried the King. "It is but a false distraction; for our fate lies clear before us, and we must not shrink from it, but face it with determination. Though we may fall before the onslaught of our enemies, it is with glory that we shall defend our ways and our people until every last one of our warriors can wield a blade no longer."
"That is not all I spoke of with Elrond," said Aragorn, bringing an end to Théoden's lamentations. At these words Truva's attention was piqued again, for perhaps this time the leader of the Dúnedain spoke not of doom, but of his own affection for Éowyn.
"Is it not?" questioned the King.
Then Aragorn spoke, a chant that hung ominously upon the air:
"The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.
From the North shall he come, need shall drive him."
Truva could not discern the meaning of these lines, yet Théoden King's response indicated he understood their implication.
"You cannot possibly mean—" his voice trailing off in disbelief.
"I intend to walk the Paths of the Dead," said Aragorn.
Truva gasped audibly, causing Halbarad to cover her mouth with his hand. Was it not a mere few hours ago that she had jokingly used the Eorlingas phrase when speaking with Éowyn? Yet the very real menace that lay behind those words could not be ignored.
"Even given your lineage, there is no assurance that you will emerge alive, let alone triumphant over the wills of such traitors," warned the King.
"Never have we faced a greater need," said Aragorn. "It is time the Men of the Mountains fulfil their oath."
"If you have set your mind upon this task, there is aught I can do to stop you," said the King, "Yet I must advise against it. The loss of a fighter such as yourself – and I assume your men as well – would be irreparable to the Riddermark."
"You have great leaders among you," Aragorn reassured the King. "Your Marshals Erkenbrand and Elfhelm lend you invaluable wisdom and experience. Éomer can inspire even the most unassertive of fighters to become a lion, and Éofa is loyal almost to a fault. And Truva—"
Beyond the tent, Truva started upon hearing her name. She clutched at Halbarad's arm to steady herself, hoping she would not be terribly shamed by the words that followed, though at first they made little sense:
"In my youth, I travelled to the Icebay of Forochel. There I spied colossal mountains of ice that floated in the water, larger even than Meduseld, perhaps as immeasurable as the White Mountains themselves. To great heights they tower above the waves, yet what lies below is even more prodigious.
"These icebergs are akin to Truva," Aragorn continued. "While all that she allows us to see is impressive, I believe what still remains hidden is even more so."
"I do not disagree," said the King, "Though she is hesitant to take command – we are in need of leaders who are capable of acknowledging the sense of authority inherent within themselves even in this very moment."
"I understand that once she might have been so meek," said Aragorn, "Yet having witnessed her guidance of the Hidlanders, I believe she shall rise beyond our greatest expectations; and in the meantime, I shall bolster your ranks with an army unlooked for."
Truva could sense Théoden King's indecision as he considered Aragorn's words, though she knew the conclusion was inevitable. "Very well," the King sighed at great last. "When do you plan to depart?"
"Tomorrow. Morning," said Aragorn. Truva understood then the tense conversation held between Halbarad and the sons of Elrond, as well as the Elves' insistence that the next day would dawn early for them; for Aragorn had already informed them of his plans. Truva turned accusingly to Halbarad, who merely shrugged in response.
"I suppose there is no reason for delay," said Théoden King. "Best be on your way as quickly as possible, for who knows what obstacles might lie before you."
"Thank you for your understanding," said Aragorn, and Truva watched the shadow of his figure bow before the King.
"Take me with you!" Éowyn exclaimed suddenly, surprising Truva who had entirely forgotten the shieldmaiden's presence. Her shadow moved swiftly toward Aragorn's, kneeling before the Ranger of the North. "I beg of you, take me with you!"
"Your place is here, with your people," Aragorn murmured gently, offering a hand to help her rise, though she did not take it, and remained upon her knees.
"Erkenbrand can protect them," said Éowyn desperately. "He is retired as it is, and has already declared his intention to remain in Dunharrow; he will not accompany us to war."
"Erkenbrand is a Marshal, but not of royal blood," said Théoden King to his niece. "Warriors look to him in battle, yet our citizens look to you to lead."
"They can learn to look to him as a leader as easily as I!" said Éowyn. "Of what use is royal blood if it cannot be spilt in saving its people?"
"I will not see your blood spilled!" exclaimed the King. "Nor would I see the blood of Éomer spilled, could I avoid it! Yet he serves now as Marshal of the King's Riders, and thus cannot be spared. None doubt your ferocity as a warrior, Éowyn sister-daughter, but sacrifices must be made, and oft they are not the sacrifices we wish to make."
"You are too cruel!" Éowyn cried before rising to her feet and storming from the tent, throwing the flaps aside with such rage that she did not notice the two interlopers crouching conspicuously at its corner.
"I apologise," Théoden King said then to Aragorn.
"She has my sympathies," the Ranger replied. "As warriors, we are raised with the understanding that we might one day be called to sacrifice our very lives if necessary, yet to stand aside as others make that sacrifice requires its own, wholly unique sacrifice."
"I suppose you are right," said the King with a sigh, pausing before saying, "You are dismissed. Get some rest before the morning."
Upon these words, Halbarad and Truva scrambled to hide, yet managed only to trip over each other and fall sprawling onto the grass. Aragorn emerged from the tent to find them attempting to extricate their entangled limbs. He did not acknowledge them, merely brushed past them with an exasperated sigh and continued on toward his own tent. Truva and Halbarad glanced at each other before rising from the ground to follow his lead.
When she at last ducked into her tent, Halbarad having departed for his, Truva collapsed immediately upon her cot. Confused thoughts swarmed in her mind: Aragorn's unshakable belief in his lineage, the impending departure of the Dúnedain along a path that surely led to destruction, and the Ranger's surprising words of faith in her. Sleep proved elusive, and it was deep into the night that Truva found herself struggling to parse this trove of information.