Author's recommended listening: Fauré, Piano Quartet No. 1 in C minor
Author's note: As with a great deal of fanfiction, The Lady of the Rohirrim occasionally borrows dialogue from canon. Though I have mentioned this before, this chapter is particularly egregious in its use of Tolkien and so I thought it best to mention it once more.
CHAPTER XXIV: A FINAL COUNCIL
Truva slept as though death were upon her. The Eorlingas' headlong dash to the White City and its culminating battle had rendered her in a state beyond exhaustion, and yet the sun had scarcely risen ere she was roused by Éomer. Despite her drowsiness and aching body, Truva bolted to her feet.
"My King," she said, bowing low to him, as well as to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, who stood in the doorway behind.
"Come, ceremony is wasted times such as these," said Éomer King. "We are summoned to council, for even in victory our path grows more treacherous, and with Éofa's passing you must serve in his stead."
"I am to take the position of Third Marshal? But my lord—"
"Even so we shall be short one Marshall," he said, cutting short her protests, and with that Éomer King turned and marched from the hall. The finality of his words were a clear demonstration of how the stern but good-natured Marshall had transformed overnight into King – one upon whom the survival of his people weighed heavily.
She followed behind Éomer King and Prince Imrahil in a somnolent daze as they descended through the streets of the city, greeting Elfhelm Marshal as he joined them. Down, down the small party wend, through the canyon of tall stony buildings until they reached the entrance. Debris had been cleared away throughout the night, leaving as the only indication of the once massive wooden doors an array of splinters that still protruded from the frame. Fires continued to burn in the greensward beyond, for such great destruction had been wrought upon the city and its lands that days might yet pass before the battlefield was clear.
From the early morning mist materialised the sparsely adorned tents of the Dúnedain and their companions from Gondor's southern fiefdoms, and Éomer King directed the group toward these, entering the largest. The other captains of the West had already gathered there, Gandalf foremost amongst them. The Wizard was surrounded by the Elven Princes Elladan and Elrohir, Aragorn and Halbarad, and the strange duo of Gimli and Legolas.
Halbarad gave a quick wave which Truva returned, yet when her eyes briefly met Aragorn's, she was quick to glance away. His countenance was unreadable, though she thought perhaps she could see some peculiar jumble of contentment, disappointment, and hurt tug at the corners of his lips. Events from the previous night flooded back into her mind, and guilt wrapped tight iron bands about her swelling heart; yet more pressing matters lay clear before the company, and Truva would not risk their safety for her own personal sentiments. No other greeting passed between them.
"My lords," said Gandalf as soon as all had gathered, "Listen to the words of the Steward of Gondor before he died: You may triumph on the Fields of the Pelennor for a day, but against the Power that has now arisen there is no victory."
Silence hung in the air, for it was as though their greatest fear had been spoken into word. Gandalf allowed each warrior to steep in their own thoughts a few moments ere he continued, "I do not bid you to despair, as he did, but to ponder the truth in these words.
"Hardly has our strength sufficed to beat off the first great assault. The next will be greater. Prudence would counsel you to strengthen such strong places as you have, and there await the onset."
"Then you would have us retreat to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or to Dunharrow, and there sit like children on sand-castles when the tide is flowing?" said Prince Imrahil.
"That would be no new counsel of prudence," said Gandalf, "But I do not counsel prudence. I believe victory cannot be achieved by arms, and yet I still hope for victory; for into the midst of all these policies comes the Ring of Power."
Truva had only been half-listening, for in her exhausted state she found it difficult to focus, yet upon the sudden mention of the Ring of Power she was shocked into wakefulness. All recent events: the resurgence of Dunlending and Orc assaults on the Mark, the rise and subsequent destruction of Saruman, the gathering of forces and the frantic movement across the lands— it had all seemed disconnected and without reason to her. The decisions that had guided Truva were entirely reactionary; in facing unprompted assault, she met it directly. Yet the driving purpose behind it all – and she sensed there must surely be one – was still shrouded in mystery.
"We have not the Ring," Gandalf said. "In wisdom or great folly it has been sent away to be destroyed, lest it destroy us. We must at all costs keep his Eye from his true peril; therein lies all our hope. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be.
"We must call out Sauron's hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land. We must make ourselves the bait, though his jaws should close on us. We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even if Barad-dûr be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this, I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless – as we surely shall, if we sit here – and know as we die that no new age shall be."
Silence reigned once more as each warrior reckoned with his own responsibilities. Despairing as the Wizard's words were, however, they were not devoid of hope, and one by one their faces came to show stony determination.
"As I have begun, so I shall go on," Aragorn said at last, breaking the silence. Truva's heart trilled to hear him speak the very words she longed to say, for in her mind there was no other recourse save forge on ahead. "Let none now reject the counsels of Gandalf, but for whom all would long ago have been lost. Nonetheless I do not yet claim to command any man. Let others choose as they will."
Elrohir spoke for himself and his brother when he said, "From the North we came with this purpose, and from Elrond our father we brought this very counsel. We will not turn back."
"As for myself," Éomer King remarked, "I have little knowledge of these deep matters, but I need it not. This I know, and it is enough, that as my friend Aragorn aided me and my people, so I will aid him in kind when he calls. I will go."
Prince Imrahil was last to speak, yet not so simple was his answer. "The Lord Aragorn I hold to be my liege-lord, whether he claim it or no. His wish is to me a command. I will go. Yet for a while I stand in the place of the Steward of Gondor, and while there is any hope of our victory, Gondor must be protected. I would not have us return to a City in ruins and a land ravaged behind us.
"That is true," said Gandalf. "I do not counsel you to leave the City all unmanned, as there is news of an army still unfought upon our northern flank. Indeed, the force that we lead east need not be great enough for any assault in earnest, so long as it be great enough to challenge battle."
"New strength is on the way from the southern fiefs, now that the coasts have been rid," said Aragorn. "They are to arrive in two days' time, followed by Angbor of Pelargir. I judge that we could lead out seven thousand of horse and food in that time, and yet leave the City in better defence than it was when the assault began."
"I shall send Elfhelm's forces, those that are of sound body and their horses likewise, northward to halt the advances of our foes through Anórien," Éomer King said, "But we have suffered much loss of our horses, and that is ill to bear."
"The land into which we go is evil," said Aragorn. "The greater part of our forces needs must travel on foot as it is. Gather five hundred of your best Eorlingas to ride, and in a company of similar number shall the knights of Dol Amroth ride, with the Grey Company. The rest who are war-worthy may travel horseless."
Thus the council concluded, and the captains dispersed to gather in two days all that would go willingly, knowing their peril. Truva could not bring herself to so much as glance at Aragorn when she exited, ducking through the flaps of the pavilion and scurrying after her King and the others. As they trudged up the City's sloping streets to relay the news to their fighters, Éomer dropped back from his conference with Prince Imrahil to speak with her.
"What opinion have you of our determined course of action?" he asked.
"I believe it is the right one – and the only one," Truva answered. "It is apparent the Wizard has considered all possible outcomes far more thoroughly than any of us, and I feel it would be unwise to mistrust his counsel."
Éomer nodded in contemplative silence a moment. "Our already desperate situation will become even more acute with the departure of Elfhelm," he said at last. "Are you prepared to don the mantle of Marshal?"
Truva's sense that she did not have much choice in the matter was not without base – for she truly did not, and she said as much. Wry humour glittered in the King's eye, and he placed a hand upon her shoulder.
"Our little recruit," he said, echoing the words Théodred had once uttered long ago. "Even as I gaze upon you now, I can still see a shadow of that panicked fighter I collided with back in the Hidlands; yet even so, you are no longer that fighter. Many years have you spent among us, growing both in body and in mind, demonstrating loyalty, and bravery, and yes—even leadership. Your presence here is not the result of a mere series of inadvertent mishaps. As we stand before these end times, our fate writ so inescapably before us, there is no other I would rather draw blades with."
He reached to his side and pulled a leather strap from around his head. Attached at the end was a horn, wrought with carven figures and silver filigree, all the more beautiful for its small size. Éomer King took Truva's hand in his own, and placed the horn in her palm.
"The Horn of the House of Éofor; long was it in Éofa's possession, though not oft were its sonorous tones heard, for ever his friends were beside him. May you likewise find little cause to sound it.
"Take heart, Truva. Do not allow destiny to descend upon you; seize it instead with your own hands – not for your own self, but for those that depend on you." He gazed directly into her face, searching for the fire he knew to smoulder there. "Can you do that?"
Truva observed the conviction in her King's eyes as she steadily returned his gaze, then drew the horn close to her and inspected it minutely for some time. "I must," she whispered, her brow knitted in self-doubt.
Éomer nodded shortly in affirmation; though he, too, was greatly concerned about their precarious circumstances, he did not wish to convey that uncertainty to his newly anointed Marshal.
"Take stock of your forces, and determine those who are to stay behind in defence of Mundburg. Begin with those whose injuries are slight, but severe enough to prevent them from joining us on our next campaign – as well as those who are horseless. Those who are battle-ready we will redistribute between our forces as necessary," he said.
Once returned to the provisional barracks, Truva first gathered the Eorlingas who had fought under Éofa, and called to her the Hidlanders as well. Even with both forces standing in clusters or seated in groups on the straw flooring, the company scarcely filled the hall; Truva's heart sank to see their numbers did not so much as surpass one thousand all told.
"I hope you are all well rested," she began when they had settled before her. "Foremost, it is my understanding that news of Éofa's passing has circulated widely. He was a good man, the kind whose depth of influence goes unnoticed until the rippling waters are stilled."
In the silence that followed, sorrowful whispers arose from the warriors, hastily stifled. "Unfortunately," she continued, "The forces of Mordor are unrelenting, and we have little choice but to strike out to meet them head on. In the meantime, it has been determined that I am to take on the duties of Éofa Marshal. Though it has not been long since I myself joined the forces of the Mark, it is with dedication of my entire being that I shall lead you in the dark trials that are sure to come.
"We are set to depart for the black gates of that land two days hence. It will be no easy journey, and like as not it shall be a miserable fate we face at the end of it, yet should we fail it is a fate likely to befall all. I ask all that can steel their heart against such a destiny to join the Armies of the West in our last great march.
"Yet there are a great many injured, and there is Mundburg still to protect. We might yet reign victorious, and I would not leave our homes susceptible to attack, or subject our people to horrors they reasonably cannot bring themselves to face.
"Who among you wishes to remain behind? Whether you be injured or no, there is no shame in lingering here, for a crucial duty you might still render to this city," said Truva. A great many raised their hands then, far more than Truva expected; there were the injured, of course, but also those to whom soldiering did not come naturally: farmers and tradesmen all. It pleased her to see that not one Hidland fighter elected to stay, however, and indeed there were quite a few she resolved to later draw aside and order to remain, due to their physical condition.
"Very well," said Truva. "As for our mode of transport, we all well know a great number of our mounts have been lost upon these fields of the Pelennor." A sharp cry rose up from the warriors at these words, more grievous even than it had been for their beloved captain Éofa. To each Eorlingas, his horse was his companion, often from his earliest training days until his own death; for the Mearas were exceptionally long-lived when they were not cut down by the violence of Man. That so many had felt the keen anguish of losing their horse pained Truva deeply.
"Even among those whose steeds still live, many must go on foot," she said, loath to cut short their lamentations yet acutely aware there was still a great deal of planning yet to be done by Éomer King and the rest of the council; duty took precedence over mourning. "Are there any willing to make this sacrifice?"
The Hidlanders reacted with great joy to hear they would not be expected to ride, for even now they considered transportation on horseback less than ideal. They were not alone, however; having seen the destruction wrought upon the mounts of their brethren, many of the Eorlingas were eager to protect their horses in any way possible, and thus elected to subject themselves to the long march to the enemy's doorstep.
When at last these final calculations had been made, Truva sought out Éomer King, who sat with Éowyn in the Houses of Healing. She quickly relayed the warriors' decisions to him.
"Detract Elfhelm's forces and those that will remain behind in Mundburg, and we walk into battle with scarcely five hundred on horse and the same number again on foot. It is hardly auspicious," he whispered, for his sister was sleeping. Even in repose, Éowyn's figure appeared icy and fraught with tension, and Truva worried greatly whether the shieldmaiden might ever make a full recovery.
"It would seem that way, my lord," sighed Truva, returning her attention to the King, "Yet while our armies are not great in number, we are great in spirit. These are warriors I will not be ashamed to lead into battle."
"It is as you say; there are some among us who are worth more than a thousand mail-clad knights apiece."
"Some such as yourself, my lord," said Truva. "I see you are unscathed after yesterday's conflict."
"Be it fortune or skill, it is thus," said Éomer King, "Though I think it is more rumour of my name, and that of Aragorn and Prince Imrahil, by which our foes fled before us. I expect it shan't be long before it is the same with you."
"Perhaps," said Truva pensively, and the two leaders turned their thoughts inward for some time before Truva motioned to Éowyn and asked, "How does she fare?"
Éomer King looked upon his sister then with pity, and with wonder, for it was not until he witnessed her body lying deathlike upon the fields of the Pelennor that he had begun to comprehend the pain that clouded her heart. He knew her heroic acts to be the culmination of unending dismissal, and yet he felt compelled to deny her once more – though the choice still lay heavy upon his heart.
"She is better," he said. "Furious that I refuse her the opportunity to join our final march."
"I expected nothing less," Truva laughed, though the sound was dampened in the close Houses.
"I fear she will not stop until she meets her end in battle," said Éomer King.
"It would no doubt please her greatly to pass from this earth in the manner of our greatest warriors," Truva agreed, though speaking of such warriors brought to both their minds the memory of Théoden King, and a melancholic mood descended.
Truva stood. "If there is nothing more you require of me, I will take my leave."
"No, nothing. I will stay here a while longer," said Éomer King. Truva bowed and retreated from the chamber, exiting the Houses of Healing where those soldiers whose injuries were less severe continued to be tended to.
The dark mood had reignited the faintly glowing embers within her heart, and so Truva ascended once more to the Citadel, entering the Tower Hall and kneeling upon the marble floor before her King and Marshal in meditation. She felt as though she were searching for something unknown, perhaps some sort of revelation or validation; yet what she most sincerely longed for was a moment of peace and normalcy.
What Truva considered normal had changed considerably over the years. As she gazed upon his figure swathed in gold cloth, she was overwhelmed with gratitude for Théoden King, for it was he that had blessed her with the joyous life she had grown accustomed to; and in some strange way she felt thankful that the war represented an interruption of that beautiful life – a life that many others had been denied.
She felt no misgivings in sacrificing her own good fortune to ensure that others might prosper; indeed, to meet her death with such purpose gave her great comfort, for once upon a time she had been convinced that her life would consist of nothing more than wasting away in a cage beneath the heel of Men. Thus Truva's heart was consoled, yet she lingered still.
After some time, she heard footsteps from behind. Looking back, she spied the approaching figure of Halbarad, who moved with graceful purpose across the hall. He bowed stately before Théoden King, then to Éofa, and took a seat beside Truva.
"What brings you here?" she asked.
"The same as you, I suppose," said Halbarad.
"The questioning of one's own existence?"
"Or perhaps not," he smiled wanly. "How is your shoulder?"
"If we are to talk of insignificant matters," said Truva, "Let us leave this solemn place and find some sustenance, for I am famished and have not eaten this morn."
They stood together and exited from the gloom of the Hall into the clear sunlight of early afternoon. Light clouds scuttled by on a refreshing breeze, giving no indication of the previous day's tenebrosity. The disquiet born of her impending trials was almost swept from Truva's mind by the pleasant scenery that greeted her.
"Do you reckon there will be any food left from the Hidlanders' breakfast?" asked Halbarad. "There are some scraps in the Dúnedain tents, but it is such a bother to go all the way down – especially having already done so this morning – if you are only going to come back up again."
"We may check," Truva replied. "It would certainly be less trouble."
"And then you absolutely must wash, for I think our foes in Mordor can smell you even now!" declared Halbarad. "I would have felt some sympathy for the others in our council had they all not reeked equally, if not worse."
"It is a badge of honour for exertion in battle!" countered Truva with a slight twist of the lips, though even she could scarcely stand her own stench.
There was not a soldier to be seen in the barracks, for they were all about exploring the city or preparing for the journey to come, yet they had left a considerable amount of food in the dining hall. Truva and Halbarad helped themselves to fresh bread and fruits, and poured a glass of wine each.
"Was it Aragorn who told you of my shoulder?" asked Truva as she sliced an apple to share with Halbarad.
"Yes, although he needn't have; your injury was more than apparent as it was," said Halbarad. He glanced at her bandaged shoulder, wincing slightly, then broached a new subject. "I know not what words were exchanged between you two, yet Aragorn seemed exceptionally grim this morning – excessive even for our dire circumstances."
"Excessively grim in the face of almost certain death?" said Truva, dubious.
"Precisely," he stated, accepting the apple Truva proffered.
"Yes, well, I am certain he will recover," she said curtly.
"Why is it that you refuse yourself the potential to be happy?" Halbarad turned his gaze fully upon her then. His tone was light and there was a slight smile upon his lips, yet Truva suspected a vein of earnestness lay beneath his congenial air.
"Why must it be through a man that I find happiness?" she retorted. "I am happy! Even in the face of my own demise, I am happy!"
"I doubt it not," Halbarad conceded, "Yet is it not possible to compound happiness upon happiness? Ever since our departure from Imladris I have watched you, and observed the way in which you look upon my captain. What is it that gives you pause; what have you to lose?"
"I have a great deal to lose," Truva said quietly to herself, growing uneasy under the Ranger's litany of questions. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will follow your command and find somewhere that I might wash."
Though she had hardly eaten, Truva stood and marched back through the barracks and into the alleyway in search of a bathhouse. Her search did not last long, for a great racket issued forth from just down the way, where the stone walls of the baths caused the patrons' shouts to echo and reverberate all along the street.
The master of the bathhouse welcomed Truva warmly, giving her a towel from the towering stack in the entryway before directing her toward the women's area. The men's side was clearly the greater source of the ruckus, yet still there were a surprising number of women gossiping and splashing about when Truva entered. Upon catching sight of her, however, they grew silent, and hushed whispers spread like wildfire when her fresh wound was revealed. These women were not warriors; they lived and worked in the city, or were refugees from the southern lands, and seeing Truva's battered and bruised figure was a horrifying novelty to them.
Even as she lowered her aching body into the nearest bath, however, the hubbub resumed and Truva felt less diffident. She lounged comfortably, allowing herself time to take in the details of the spa, which put to shame the wooden tubs and quick river washes she had survived on until that point.
Five white marble tubs aligned seamlessly, emerging from the tile floor as though both tub and tile had been carved from the same single stone. A plaque with strange symbols hung above each bath, and after some scrutiny Truva was fairly certain they indicated the temperature of the water and its healing properties. Though she sat in the second coolest bath, its waters were scalding and Truva could only assume her skin and insides were being prepared for that evening's meal.
As she looked about, one woman drifted over from the neighbouring bath and asked, "Are you the legendary warrior, the freed slave from the Hidden Lands?"
"Many of us ride now with the Rohirrim," said Truva, for though she discerned the true intention behind the woman's question, she was loath to confirm it.
"But you were the first, were you not? She who won her freedom by a thousand fights?"
"It is peculiar how such tales spread so quickly," said Truva.
"It is a great honour to make your acquaintance, for we have heard many tales of your valour!" the woman exclaimed, indicating two other women who nodded enthusiastically from yet a third bath. "I am called Aerin, and you are an inspiration to both myself and all who dwell within this City, a symbol of hope the likes of which have long been absent!"
The woman emerged gracefully from the water then, followed by the others. "Wait here, we shall be back shortly!" she said as the trio donned neatly folded dresses and scurried toward the exit, twittering excitedly all the while.
Truva stared after them quizzically, not entirely sure what to make of the interaction, yet she had already intended to enjoy her bath to the fullest and thus concluded that it was the least she could to do wait until their return.
True to her word, Aerin reappeared before too long, bearing a bundle of white cloth.
"This is for you!" she said, her enthusiasm palpable as she set the bundle down upon a dry stool and untied it. From the bundle she unfolded a swath of fabric and held it up to her body, revealing an elegant but simple white linen dress.
"We like to flatter ourselves by claiming to be the most prodigious seamstresses in all of Minas Tirith," Aerin said with a wink. "Though this dress is inornate, we thought it might be best suited to your needs during your sojourn in the city, ere you set off to fight again."
Truva was left speechless a moment before she leapt to her feet, nearly slipping and splashing the ladies with bathwater. "Thank you, thank you! Words cannot express my gratitude, for I set out from Dunharrow with naught but my sword and a few days' provisions. I knew not what lay in wait for me save battle, and so I find myself lacking any spare clothing."
"There are many like you in a similar situation," said Aerin. "Never has our shop been so busy! Yet while we cannot possibly ask remuneration from any who risked their lives in defence of our city, to you we gift this dress especially; and upon your victorious return from the lands beyond, it will be with glad heart that we would see you adorned in our most splendid apparel."
"How can I ever thank you?" said Truva, utterly astonished by the women's generosity.
"It is we who should thank you, for already you have rendered us a service beyond measure. Well, until next time!" said Aerin, and with a wave and a sly smile, the three seamstresses collected Truva's filthy, bloodstained and torn battle garments and disappeared.
Truva stood confounded for some time before she returned to her senses and clambered out of the bath, forgetful of her intentions to soak until her skin puckered. She patted her skin dry with the towel and immediately donned the women's gift; it fit perfectly, for while it was trimmed close to her body, it still allowed her full freedom of movement. In its simplicity was the height of elegance, and in many ways it suited Truva a great deal more than the gaudy affair she had worn to the banquet in Dunharrow.
Truva exited the bathhouse, her step lighter along the path back to the barracks for sheer joy. Much to her surprise, she discovered Halbarad tarried still in the dining hall.
"Have you no other business to tend to?" she asked.
"I wished to apologise," said Halbarad, "For what I said earlier. I was unnecessarily nosy regarding a personal matter, and it was uncouth of me."
"Apologise?" Truva was genuinely confused, for while Halbarad's words had upset her, it was clear they had not been intended cruelly. Unwilling to allow her pleasant mood be affected, she simply said, "All is forgiven!"
"So easily?" said Halbarad, his smile hesitant.
"You said nothing amiss, and spoke your true heart. How am I to condemn you for that?"
"Well, in that case, might I say that you are looking especially lovely? By what means did you come upon such an enchanting garment?"
"The skill of Mundburg's seamstresses is indeed unparalleled," said Truva, with a mock curtsy. "Now, if all is well between us, let us depart, for I intend to assist in the clearing and reconstruction of the City."
"Might I accompany you? It is as you say; I've little else to do."
"I am certain all hands will be gladly welcomed!" said Truva, and together the two sauntered back down to the lower levels. They soon came across a mass of workers who helped to shift stone and debris from the pathways, rebuilding what they could. Chaya and Blackbramble were already among their number, the ease with which the latter lifted massive wooden beams a comical contrast to the struggle of all others. Legolas and Gimli were there also, working cheerfully together to clear an especially large boulder.
"Ah! Just the person to resolve our disagreeance!" cried the Dwarf as Truva and Halbarad approached.
"She is sure to think as I do!" said the Elf.
"I would not be so confident, laddie!" retorted Gimli.
"May I at least inquire as to what this disagreeance is about?" asked Truva as she transferred several manageable stones to the pile on the side of the street. Halbarad accepted a wide shovel from another worker and began clearing the crumbled rock away.
"First, alleviate our curiosity: what was your count?" asked Legolas. "Though I am certain to have bested you both this time."
"That depends," said Truva, thinking back. "I lost tally quite a few times— How many does a troll count for?"
"Ah-hah!" cried Legolas. "As I said!"
"One creature, one count!" Gimli said irritably. "Otherwise those monstrous mountains of a beast would invariably come ahead of the smaller, more delicate – yet equally necessary! – work of infantrymen!"
"Did you fell an oliphaunt?" cried Truva, turning sharply to Legolas. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly uncertain of himself; it was a peculiar attitude which Truva had heretofore thought impossible for an Elf.
"Perhaps," he answered, his eyes darting away.
"But they are not beasts born of evil like the mounts of the Nazgûl, nor prone to rampant destruction and slaughter like the trolls," she said incredulously. "They are ordinary creatures, goaded and beaten into servitude by evil men. And to brag about slaughtering one!"
"I think that ought rather to send your count into the negatives, Master Elf!" exclaimed Gimli gleefully, enthusiastic to support any argument which ensured his victory.
"Though I stand by my actions – for had I not brought the beast down, it surely would have brought great ruin upon the City – I acknowledge your position," said Legolas. "In which case, I concede defeat; congratulations are in order, Mr. Gimli!"
"Do not be so hasty," interjected the Dwarf. "The Rohirrim lassie might just happen to surpass my number!"
"The only number that matters is one: my own life, that I might fight another day!" said Truva.
"Well-spoken!" said Gimli. "She might make a name for herself yet!"
"I must admit, I grow fonder of the horse people with each passing word," said the Elf, and they continued their work throughout the day and into early evening, engaging all the while in such lighthearted banter, and by the by Truva felt any discomfit with this odd pair slowly melt away.
Just before supper, Aragorn appeared briefly with the Wizard to observe the volunteers' progress. Though whispered rumours claimed that the Ranger had refused to take on any official title, he seemed a King in all ways save name. Even so, he brushed aside the workers' insistence that his efforts were unnecessary, and bent his back to labour beside each group in turn, coming at last to Truva and the others.
He nodded in turn to Legolas and Gimli before accepting a shovel from Halbarad. Truva paused to watch the two Dúnedain work side by side a spell, then in realising she was staring returned to her own boulders, careful to avoid catching Aragorn's eye.
She could not deceive herself into believing his renewed detachment did not affect her, yet nor could she pinpoint its cause. Truva momentarily allowed herself the fantasy that such behaviour was simply his way of honouring her devotion to duty, though a spear of guilt jolted through her stomach when she considered that perhaps he was masking some hurt she had caused. She quickly rejected these absurd notions, however, for she struggled to conceive of how someone of Aragorn's elevated status could be so deeply moved by a lowly soldier such as herself. Yes, surely his dispassion was merely the natural effect of his increased responsibilities.
No sooner had he joined them than Aragorn returned the shovel to Halbarad and disappeared once more, leaving the company to work until they were invited for an evening meal.
The remaining time before the final muster of arms passed similarly – uneventful and almost peaceful, allowing Truva to regain some small amount of strength and inner composure. When her heart was in turmoil she would make a circuit: first visiting the Citadel to honour those who lay in repose there, then descending to the Houses of Healing where she might inquire after Éowyn's condition, though the shieldmaiden was always sleeping.
Truva would finally seek out the stables and ensure that Bron was well-fed and looked after, though it was apparent that she gained more comfort from him than he from her; for he was quite content to lounge in his stall and bask in the attention Mundburg's stable hands paid him. Gondor's equine culture was not nearly as rich as the Mark's, yet it was clear they valued their mounts highly.
While it seemed to Truva that it was but yesterday that she had completed them, there were also numerous martial tasks to see to. One which she unexpectedly did not need to concern herself with, however, was that of her uniform; for when she returned from a rather extensive search for a repurposed quiver of arrows, Truva discovered the tunic and trousers laid upon her bedroll, freshly laundered and mended.
It was late evening when she sought out the shop belonging to the seamstresses, far on the third level of the vast City. Lights glowed from within, casting cheery beams through the windows – which all save one had miraculously survived the assault of Mordor. A pleasant bell tinkled when Truva pushed open the door, causing Aerin to look up from her work.
She sat alone at a great table, busily embroidering tiny, immaculate details onto a bolt of fabric, yet she leapt up the instant she recognised Truva.
"Oh, you needn't have come all the way down here! It is terribly far from your quarters, and I am sure you are busy with preparations for your departure!" she exclaimed.
"I came to return this," said Truva, holding out the linen dress. "I do not believe I have ever worn a garment of finer quality. To have made a thing of such comfort and beauty, your skills must truly be unparalleled."
Aerin laughed in pleasure at the compliment. "I would gift it to you, yet I suspect you shall find little need of it where you are going, and it would become a burden, rather," she said. "Instead, I shall keep it for your return."
Truva was tempted to mention that there would in all likelihood be no return; yet such words were sure to distress the seamstress, and so merely bid Aerin goodbye, thanking her once more before returning to the upper levels.
Thus, with an endless list of tasks which she made unnecessarily long, Truva succeeded in keeping herself occupied throughout her remaining time in Mundburg, and at long last found herself waking in the dim light of predawn on the morning of the Armies' departure.