Author's recommended listening: Respighi, Roman Trilogy
CHAPTER XXIX: RIDE OF THE HIDLANDERS
In the days that followed their audience with King Aragorn, Truva and those Hidlanders that would remain bade farewell to those that would accompany Prince Imrahil; they would travel south among the Swan Knights to Lossnarch or Lebennin, to the cities of Pelargir or Dol Amroth, and beyond. Her joy in seeing the warm acceptance of the Hidlanders by their new compatriots was rivalled only by seeing the regal oliphaunts lingering beside the Anduin; for those Gondorians bound for the furthest reaches of South Ithilien soon boarded their ships to sail slowly beside the creatures as they were led to their new habitat.
Truva faced a conundrum in her own impending departure, however, for loth was she to ride any horse, as the loss of Bron still weighed heavily in her heart – and yet Gandalf's warning urged expediency. Truva knew what her choice must be; she would not honour the dead at the sacrifice of the living. As she wandered the cramped stables, packed stall upon stall with an unaccustomed number of occupants, however, she wondered whether she would have the heart to select a mount, even under provisional circumstances. She rubbed the noses of the Mearas, and greeted the Dúnedain's shaggy horses, and even the ponies set aside for the Halflings, yet all the while Bron's absence never went unfelt.
When she at long last summoned the courage to inquire whether a horse might be spared for her, the stable master led Truva to an ornate stall at the far end of the row. There was a braided inlay of silver in the shape of wings, with seven jewels of adamant arching across the entryway. Within, Roheryn nibbled contentedly upon fresh straw.
"I have specific orders from the King himself to ensure Milady be provided with the King's own horse," said the stablemaster, unlatching the stall door and stepping aside, "Though it strikes me strange that a soldier of the Rohirrim would deign to ride a mount not of their own stables, and yet – Roheryn, 'horse of the lady,' I suppose it fits."
With a shrug, the stable master turned and left Truva alone with Roheryn. "Still not a lady, and even if I were—," said Truva, though the master had long disappeared. Truva turned to the magnificent creature and entered the stall cautiously, extending her hand in offering. Roheryn sniffed her palm with mild interest, tickling her with his whiskers as he did so, then returned to his meal unperturbed, satisfied in the conclusion that her hand was not food.
Truva ran her fingers through his shaggy grey fur from withers to croup, then simply gazed upon him for a while, for her heart was torn. The implications of accepting King Aragorn's gift gave her pause – perhaps he would interpret it as an acceptance of his heart, as well; though given Aragorn's character it was likely more a symbol of goodwill, regardless of her intentions.
Moreover, while it was true she did not wish to ride any horse at all, circumstances necessitated swiftness. She was left with no satisfactory alternative, and the choice of Roheryn seemed marginally more appropriate to the memory of Bron than simply selecting another horse from among those of the Eorlingas. He seemed a stoic beast, though with far more fire in his belly than steadfast and patient Bron; he would be a worthwhile companion, if but temporarily.
Thus, after great internal debate, it was upon Roheryn that Truva rode when the northerners' departure arrived at last. Roheryn followed close upon Firefoot's tail as Éomer King and Éowyn led their assemblage of resplendent warriors, joined by the Hidlanders who would ride as one for the last time.
The Dúnedain travelled also in their company, for the same rumours of trouble in the north that drove Truva's anxiousness to return compelled the Rangers to renew their patrols in those lands. They promised to accompany the Hidlanders as far as their homeland to ensure the safety of both groups, yet having observed Halbarad's interactions with Chaya in recent days, Truva secretly suspected the Dúnadan might harbour an ulterior motive for such a proposal.
With no less fanfare than their arrival, the northern forces made their way through streets lined with those who wished to pay their final respects to the striking heroes. The departing Hidlanders easily spied those who would remain behind, for Blackbramble was among their number, and he stood head and shoulders above the surrounding crowd. Even as Truva waved goodbye, Aerin appeared alongside Roheryn, apologising profusely as she jogged to keep pace with the horse.
"I am terribly sorry for not having finished your dress, Miss Truva!" she shouted over the din. "We grew a bit overzealous in its construction!"
"It is of little consequence," Truva reassured her. "I am sure to come again, and I shall be able pay you handsomely for your labours, and all the kindness you have shown me and my people."
"Though we will not accept a penny, your dress shall certainly be completed upon her return!" She then shoved a silk-wrapped bundle into Truva's hands. "For Chaya," she said, but before Truva could voice her thanks, the seamstress vanished into the crowd.
Nor was there any sign of King Aragorn, and Truva feared it was she who kept him away. Though she had sought a more private audience to discuss the matter, Aragorn had been occupied all hours of the day and night with emissaries from distant lands, and did not so much as have a moment for sleep. As Éomer King and the northern troops passed through the main gates, however, Truva looked back upon the city and spotted a solitary figure high upon the Citadel, crowned by the white helm of Gondor which gleamed like a rayed star in the morning sunlight.
Lord Faramir rode also with the company as far as the Rammas Echor, loth to part from Éowyn his betrothed, yet at last even he and his guard fell back, and the chorus of well-wishers and trumpeters grew faint. The spirit of the Eorlingas and Hidlanders and Dúnedain did not, however; their voices rose up in song and cheerful conversation as they rode on, happy to be returning home at great last, or simply gone from the constraining White City.
The riders' need was not as pressing as during their race to aid Mundburg, yet still they did not tarry; for though messengers had long ago been sent to convey news of their victory, the Eorlingas were eager to be reunited with their loved ones who remained sequestered in Dunharrow. Éomer King's manner also caused Truva to suspect that – while she had not spoken of it explicitly to him – he had learnt of Gandalf's warning nevertheless, one way or another.
Scarcely a week had passed ere the eclectic company stood before the gates of Edoras, and were hailed by the few who had remained behind to guard it. It was there each group said their goodbyes, lingering a while, as for many it was to be their final parting. In seeing how close the warriors had grown fighting side by side, Truva could not help but turn her head aside and wipe away the tear or two that trickled down her cheek.
One of a wholly different mood, Halbarad leapt from his saddle and bowed to the earth before Éomer King.
"My lord," he said, "The Dúnedain of Arnor often travel far and wide, and so it is without sadness that we bid you farewell, for surely it shall not be long before we meet again. Yet before we part, I should like to offer you our most humble promise of allyship; for as it is with Gondor, so it shall be with the Northern Rangers."
"It will not be easy to reunite a kingdom once sundered," said Éomer King in response, "Yet these lands have not seen one the likes of Aragorn in many a long year. I wish you a safe journey, and many happy returns; you shall ever be welcome in the Mark. I entrust my Marshal into your care."
"On the contrary, I suspect it is we who shall benefit from her protection," laughed Halbarad, "Yet fear not! I shall see she is returned to you with all haste."
With a final bow, the Dúnadan returned to the saddle as Éomer King drew Truva away. "I do not worry for your physical safety, rather that of your heart," he said. "Truva, you know not what awaits you in the Hidlands; if indeed the seed of a great society has been planted in the ashes as you described to me, it would not be untoward to feel an inclination to tarry there. You have served the Mark beyond all expectation, and none would begrudge you the desire to serve now your own people and your homeland."
"My homeland is the Mark, my lord," said Truva firmly.
"And the Eorlingas shall forever be your people," he said. They clasped arms briefly, then at great last the King and his company took the road into the hills toward Dunharrow, ranks newly bolstered by those Hidland fighters who wished to remain amongst the Eorlingas. Truva watched as they slowly grew lost from sight before leading the Dúnedain and remaining Hidlanders along the northwest path, across the grassy downs to the Fords of Isen.
With far fewer numbers – all of whom were mounted – those continuing along the Great Road were able to increase their pace slightly, and it was on the evening of the third day they pitched camp just a short distance from the Fords. Before they could set about their tasks in earnest, however, Truva called for the Hidland warriors to convene. Curious as to their purpose, Halbarad also joined.
"You have suffered a great many ordeals as of late," Truva began, the fire dancing shadows across her face in the dark twilight, "And perhaps there is in you, as there is in me, a weariness that does not seem as though it will ever be shaken." Empathetic murmurs rippled among her audience at these words, and Truva wished fervently that she did not have to speak the ones that came next.
"Unfortunately, I do not think our trials are over. Rumours out of the north suggest that something unknown lurks there, and it very well may be that we return to the Hidlands now, only to face yet another danger."
"It is true," spoke Halbarad. "I have heard the same from Mithrandir. Though it be no more than a nameless threat, it would be best to heed the Wizard's warning, and anticipate that it is not goodwill that awaits us in the North."
"I did not speak sooner, for fear of coercing those who did not wish to come; strong has the Hidland sense of duty to our brethren grown," Truva continued, "Yet I tell you now, as it is not yet too late to turn back and rejoin the Eorlingas. I ask only that you do not speak of this to the others, should you decide to return. They have chosen their path; we must now choose ours."
"I think we all chose long ago, though we knew it not," spoke Chaya. "I very much doubt there are any among us who would cower from a fight!"
"Brave as such sentiments are, I beg of you not to allow sense of duty to compel you!" Truva pleaded. "Each of you have earned your freedom a hundred times over; you must take advantage of this opportunity, and do as you see fit."
"Oh aye, we are doin' as we see fit!" called another fighter. "By returnin' with you lot!"
Cheers and whistles went up at this response, with no other sounds save that of general agreement. "Very well," said Truva, resigned. "But you mustn't say I did not warn you. Now off to your camp responsibilities!"
"Rare is such a courageous group of warriors," remarked Halbarad as the Hidlanders scattered to their tasks.
"No more so than the Dúnedain," said Truva, then she lowered her voice. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I cannot deny that any succour your company lends would be greatly appreciated, though we cannot reasonably demand it."
"And yet it is gladly offered," he said. "In truth, it has haunted me these past weeks, knowing that the Hidlands lay within our very palms, and yet we could not so much as see it. How many suffered while we remained ignorant?"
"Come, do not fault yourself for wrongdoings you had no part in," said Truva. "What has passed cannot be undone, though it can be remedied."
"I shall do so, provided you promise to request aid when it is needed," said Halbarad, a wry smile upon his lips.
"Agreed," laughed Truva, and they struck out toward the cook's tent together to eat their evening meal before watch, for even with the forces of Sauron destroyed there was no saying what perils might still lurk in the night.
Though the Rangers of the North were expert horsemen, the Hidlanders who accompanied them were primarily those who had no affinity for horses or the Eorlingas way. Even so, their recent experiences had improved their riding skills beyond measure, and they allowed the fleet-footed horses to bear them headlong toward their home. Truva grimly noted the natural landmarks: the Glanduin River, and the three peaks Redhorn, Silvertine, and Cloudyhead that stood above the entrance to Moria.
It was with a slight twinge of regret that Truva looked to the path that led toward Rivendell as the company crossed over the roaring Bruinen. Although she had never felt truly at ease among the Elves, their lands nevertheless represented a sanctuary of peace, and Truva longed to provide the Hidlanders with such a deserved indulgence. She sensed, too, the Dúnedain's desire to look upon the refuge of the Elves, yet they had not forgotten Gandalf's warning and so they pressed on.
Blackbramble Peak arose at great last before the riders as they neared the entrance to the Valley of the Hidden Lands. They made camp within a crick of the rocky foothills, the Hoarwell a faint tumble of water across the scrubland in the distance. They lit no fires and set a heavy guard out of an abundance of caution, yet the night was still save the occasional howl of wolves.
Truva sat some distance from the main tents, wrapped in a blanket against the chill that not even midsummer could dispel as she kept watch in the darkness. She did not turn when she heard footsteps approaching, merely offered half the blanket when Chaya sat down beside her. They pondered their own separate thoughts awhile before Chaya broke the silence.
"The battles at the White City and before the Black gates, these I faced without an inkling of fear," she said; then her voice lowered, and her eyes grew blurry from tears. "But I'm terrified to return, Truva."
"As am I," Truva sighed.
"But you have returned before! I would have thought you braver than I."
"It is not cowardly to be afraid, and bravery exists beyond the battlefield," said Truva, taking the Hidlander's hand in her own. "There are still many nights the cage bars close in around me, and even in waking I fear I shall never be free of the prison I have yet to tear down in my mind. Time helps, but it does not fully heal; yet we must forge on and demonstrate our bravery in small acts of defiance."
"I never thought the Hidlands an easy place to live, yet I was a fool not to see how truly cruel it was. Even with Orc blades swirling about me, I felt more at peace with my existence than I ever had, for it had been my choice. Now I feel as though a Troll were digging its claws into my heart, in knowing that I am voluntarily returning to the place that once stripped me of that choice."
Truva closed her eyes momentarily against Chaya's imagery, and struggled to focus on the words' intent. "Thus we must strive to create that same culture of freedom for those who remained behind; particularly those who had no choice in doing so," she said.
"Still, what if it is as the Wizard says, and we are to return to chaos?"
"It well may be that we stride in to the Hidlands on the morrow, only to be greeted by Harrodoc and the others, and all will be well!" Truva reassured her. The two then allowed a lull in the conversation to extend a while, lost in their concerns for the coming day.
"I wish Eilif were here," Chaya whispered, and as Truva had no words with which she might express her sympathy and sorrow, she merely gripped her friend's hand tighter.
They had passed no more than a few minutes in silence, staring out into the night, before Truva leapt suddenly to her feet and drew her blade in one swift motion. Surprised by this unexpected action, Chaya rose as well.
"What is it?" she hissed. Truva held a finger to her lips and carefully crept into the brush, making no sound as she moved. Perhaps she had imagined it, the flutter of white cloth but a short distance out, just barely beyond reach.
"Who is it that walks so deep in the night?" Truva ventured, her voice carrying far on the air though she spoke low. There was no answer save silence. Truva remained crouched for quite some time, her figure still in the night, until at last she was certain they were alone. She shook her head and resumed her seat beside Chaya, and the two sat out the remainder of the watch in silence.
Truva slept fitfully and briefly that night. She and Halbarad woke the fighters in the early dawn, moving out as soon as the sun's rays peeked from behind the peaks of the Misty Mountains in the morning. The company rode cautiously, though they met no resistance upon entering the Valley. Scouts returned at intervals with nothing to report, save that the land seemed eerily quiet.
After riding deserted, rocky paths all morning, a sight of which sent a shudder through the newly returning Hidlanders rose slowly before them: the Coliseum, its topmost boards ablaze in the sun's rays. Even as battle-hardened as she had become, the dilapidated platform and sunken amphitheatre caused unease to flame in Truva's heart.
She scrutinised the Coliseum as they approached, her apprehension increasing the nearer they drew, yet the tension born of her past experiences had no bearing on the sense of misgiving she felt now; something was clearly amiss. Truva gave a low whistle and a jerk of her head, indicating for the Hidlanders and Rangers to take cover behind the first cluster of hovels.
A returning scout approached her. "There is a cluster of them holed up in the Coliseum, Marshal," he said, his voice quiet. "They are armed, though I do not believe they have spied us yet."
"Yes, I see. Thank you," Truva responded, motioning for Halbarad and Chaya to approach closer. As he was more familiar with the southern lands than she, Truva had thought it best Halbarad guide their movements in Mordor; yet now they were in the place she had once naïvely considered home, it had come time for her to take full lead.
"Take a third of the fighters each," she commanded. "Halbarad, wait here for us to flush them out toward you. Chaya, you and I will dismount and head eastward behind the main market before circling back. I will cut straight along the market street itself; I want you to bank wide, to the far side of the market, before advancing toward the rear entrance of the Coliseum. When you have reached this position, I will go on your mark. Understood?"
"Yes, Marshal," said Chaya, and Halbarad nodded firmly. The two Hidland leaders dismounted and began walking through the fighters, selecting those they would take in their companies. The entire force hardly constituted seventy bodies between them, yet Truva's chest grew tight with pride as she looked upon the Hidlanders. In but a few weeks' time, they had transformed from timid, ghostly slave fighters into stony-faced warriors, radiating an aura not too dissimilar from that of the Dúnedain. She might have been tempted to pity those who stood in opposition of them, had she not known that even the smallest of trapped rats could still sink a lethal bite.
Truva and Chaya's forces struck off together, ducking behind the huts that lay to the south side of the market street. Once they had reached a distance that was protected from view of the Coliseum, Truva and her fighters turned back west, still hugging the southern side of shops as they made their way toward the main entrance. Through the gaps in the stalls and canopies, Chaya could be seen weaving her way slightly northward toward the back of the Coliseum.
When they reached the market stalls nearest the lip of the amphitheatre, Truva motioned for her fighters to take shelter and wait for Chaya's signal. To those closest behind her, she whispered, "Capture, not kill, if possible—"
Yet no sooner had she begun to speak than a commotion rose from the Coliseum. Truva sprang to action, leaping forward and leading her fighters across the short open distance to the entrance. As they reached the crest that led down into the amphitheatre, Truva spotted the free villagers – disgruntled former slave owners all – holding a position upon the podium on the far side, battling with Chaya and her forces as they struggled up the stairs.
Truva directed her fighters and Halbarad's approaching Rangers to funnel down into the amphitheatre and aid the others, though she herself paused momentarily upon the crest and drew her bow, aiming for the forefront villager who continued to clash blades with Chaya. Truva's arrow went straight through his chest and he fell limply from the stairs to the hard clay earth with a sickening crunch of bone.
"So much for capture, not kill," she muttered to herself. Even still, the death of their companion had caused the other villagers to hesitate, and in that moment Chaya surged forward with her fighters to surround the opposition. They moved immediately to bind their captives' hands as the Dúnedain pursued any remaining escapees.
"What are we to do with this lot?" Chaya asked when the Hidlanders reconvened. Truva mused for a moment before a particularly insidious thought occurred to her. "Might not we detain them in the very cages that once held us?" she suggested. "The locks were self-latching."
"A vengeful spirit does bide in you, after all," Chaya grinned, and the company ushered the villagers up into the market street, moving eastward until they reached the first bank of cages. Truva divided the troublesome villagers evenly between the cages, ensuring that they were not overly crowded and that each captive was allowed enough space to sit down.
"Vengeful? Perhaps," said Truva in response to Chaya's incredulous glance as she remounted Roheryn. "But barbaric I am not."
"They would not afford you the same kindness."
"And that is precisely why we must extend it to them."
Knowing their misadventure was not concluded, however, the Hidlanders and Rangers divided into smaller groups. Some on horseback and some on foot, they progressed slowly through the village, sweeping along the market street and all its side alleys, as far as the outlying shacks. Many structures lay in ruin, stone and hardened mud and thatched roofs splayed across the lanes; it was clear that great destruction had been wrought upon the village, though whether it was by Orcs or Hidlanders themselves it was not clear.
Individual spats rose up as scouts circled about, informing the fighters of all pockets of adversaries. Any who raised arms against them were contained in a similar manner as the first group, until at great last the warriors came upon the Fighters' Quarters. It was in great disrepair and the gate hung upon a single hinge. Though no movement came from within, Truva felt an eerie sense of being observed, yet whether it was hostile or not she could not say.
Deciding to disregard her instinct, Truva dismounted from Roheryn and slowly pushed the gate aside with a grating screech. She left her weapons sheathed and proceeded with arms raised. "Hello?" she called, though her voice only echoed about the stone walls of the courtyard. There was no response. "Hel—"
"We don' want to negotiate with no murderers!" came the gruff response, cutting her off. "Get gone, or I'll shoot you where you stand!"
Truva was caught off guard, yet she quickly regained her composure. "I do not come to negotiate – at least, not to my knowledge. And while it brings me no pleasure to say that many have lost their lives at my hands, to call me a murderer would be somewhat hyperbolic, I should hope."
More silence followed, and perhaps a hint of whispers, then a small boy peeked from behind the crack of a door. He lingered there a moment, conversing with those within, before darting out into the open and charging directly across the courtyard toward Truva. The Hidlanders behind her cried for the child to halt, yet he did not.
Truva hesitated. The company had encountered nothing save aggressive combatants so far upon their return, yet this was a weaponless child. Her mind wavered between self-defence and trust.
She held a hand before her and braced herself as the boy neared, waiting for the impact. When it came, however, it was not the touch of her ultimate demise, but that of a welcoming embrace. Truva peered down at the child, only to observe a grin staring back at her.
"You came back!" the boy exclaimed.
Truva stared at him a moment before replying. "So I have!" And when she looked up, others were emerging cautiously from the barracks. They scolded the boy for his reckless abandon, yet one by one their hesitation fell away when they recognised the figure that stood before them.
"Why, Truva!" said one, "Your appearance has changed even more than when you first returned!"
"Even then, you looked as though you had stared death in the face and conquered his spirit, but I am quite certain that you have now passed through and become Death himself!"
"Still a far cry better than the empty shell of a ghost when she lived among us!"
"Ach, I apologise for earlier," said the voice that had accused her of murder. "Had I known 'twas you, I would've sang your praises as I littered the ground 'neath your feet with flower petals – only the prettiest, collected with mine own hand!"
As the Dúnedain looked on with heartfelt smiles upon their faces, both the Hidland fighters who had departed and those who had stayed behind gathered round to exchange greetings. It was a happy reunion, though the bonds between the newly freed fighters were yet tenuous. With great reluctance, Truva recalled their attention to less joyful matters.
"How is it that the Hidlands came to this state?" she asked.
"Well, 'twas not too bad in the beginning," said the man who had accosted her, a man called Durwood, who seemed to have appointed himself their spokesperson. "Course, we didn' get along too well – us and the free folk, that is – but we managed well enough. The trouble came when we couldn't agree on how the work ought to be shared."
"Selfish loiter-sacks," interjected a woman, followed by a murmur of agreement.
"Aye, they argued they didn't know how to do the work, and we tol' them we'd teach 'em right enough, but they said they didn' want to! Said it was slaves' work! Led by your very own ol' master, Dregant, of course."
"I might have known," said Truva through clenched teeth. So Dregant had abandoned their company, only to return and seek what exploitation he could make of the Hidlands after all. It infuriated her, and the others likewise grew agitated at Durwood's words, yet he spoke on:
"'Twas right 'round that time the slave owners were followed by those foul creatures."
"Foul creatures? Orcs?" Truva hazarded.
"Nasty purplish-green colour? Like a human partaway through rottin' in a cold, dank place?"
"The very same," said Truva. It was as she had feared; their travel to and from the Valley had almost assuredly attracted the attention of roving Orcs in the area, and led them directly to the very people she had wished to protect.
"Oh, aye, Orcs you say? Disgusting things! And they were led by this ol' grandpapa, all dressed in white he was! Talked terrible funny, too."
Truva's attention was suddenly piqued at this last comment. "An old man, you say?"
"Sure, sure, but we took care of 'em well enough, didn' we!" he laughed, and at Durwood's words a chorus of cheers went up. "Those slave masters – those what stayed and those what came back – were all too happy to help us us then. One look at those beasts and there was no talk of 'slaves' work' from them free folk no more, mark my words!"
"And it was us what saved them!" called a voice.
"They didn' know how to fight, see, save what few moves you taught 'em," explained Durwood, "But we protected 'em all the same, jus' like you asked us to. Yet soon as those— what were they? Orcs! Soon as they were either dead or gone, we went right back to fighting twixt ourselves!"
A power void, Truva thought to herself. Even in appointing Harrodoc to take charge, there was never any guarantee that he would succeed in consolidating leadership and mitigating fallout that resulted from the upheaval of the Hidlands' very way of life; yet had the company tarried but a day more, all would have been lost at Minas Tirith.
"And what of the old man?" she asked.
"The White One scampered off, sayin' he'd be back," said Durwood. "Ain't nobody seen hide nor hair of him since!"
Perhaps her vision the previous night had not been some wild effect of imagination after all, but Saruman, returned with the intent of concluding his fell plans; for surely it was the White Wizard that Durwood spoke of. But it was impossible – Saruman was confined within the indestructible walls of Orthanc, under watch of Treebeard and the Ents, all his secret passageways belowground flooded with water.
"How far does this current conflict between the Hidlanders extend?" Truva asked, pushing aside her unfounded concerns. "What of the other villages? What of Harrodoc?"
Durwood drew near and placed a soothing hand upon Truva's arm. "Harrodoc was lost, Truva. Him and some of the others fell fighting the Orcs."
"I see," said Truva. The omnipresent weight in her stomach, having taken shape upon the death of Théodred and only expanded throughout the numerous losses she had endured since, grew all the heavier.
"As for the villages," continued Durwood, a pitying look in his eye, "Some are held by fighters, others by free folk; many are split right down the middle! But all have seen fighting, make no mistake!"
"Very well," said Truva. "I suppose there is nothing else to be done. We must organise our forces and proceed to the next village anon, but first: a tribunal."
The Dúnedain and Hidlanders returned along the market street, releasing the villagers from the cages in which they had been temporarily restrained. The captives were driven toward the Coliseum then gathered in the amphitheatre, where they stood sullen but quiet. As she ascended the stairs to the platform, leaping over those that had been damaged in the earlier skirmish, Truva was strongly reminded of her previous visit to the Hidlands, for she stood upon the sun bleached pine boards in much the same way. Yet the manner in which she would address the miserable Men before her would be vastly different from the speech she had made then.
"You have been accused of dereliction of duty," she cried, "And assault against your fellow free Hidlanders. What is your response to these charges?"
At these words, Dregant stepped before her, livid with rage. "What business have you in the Hidlands? What authority? Go back to riding your ponies with those tall louts from the south! You abandoned your life here – twice! – now return once more and let us live as we will!"
"My home is here, whether you will it or not," Truva replied calmly, "And as I fear injustice yet abounds in this realm, I will not leave until I am satisfied its most vulnerable members are duly protected."
Dregant scoffed, yet offered no rebuttal. Truva continued, "If you do not deny these accusations, my recommendations are thus: first, that a chieftain be established for this village, one who might mediate conflict and offer impartial guidance. Second, that all duties be shared equally, in accordance with one's capabilities; no exceptions. Third, that any found in violation of these rules – or any hereafter set forth in good faith by the chieftain – shall be subject to recompense: physical isolation or uncompensated labour, or a combination of both, to a limit that does not exceed the degree of wrongdoing.
"Lastly, these are the Dúnedain, Rangers of the North," she said, indicating Halbarad and his companions, "And long have they protected our borders, though it was unwitting both on their part and ours. Yet we are an isolated people no more, and any strife arising within our borders will be met with just adjudication from these stoic warriors."
Her words were greeted by a prolonged hush, causing Truva to fear that she had overstepped her bounds. At long last, however, a great cheer rose up from the Hidland fighters, and even the villagers murmured that they did not entirely disapprove of this arrangement, though they had little choice in the matter. Truva then turned to Chaya, who stood stony beside her, and asked, "Is there any soldier you might recommend for the crucial role of chieftain of this village?"
Chaya hesitated fleetingly, and Truva was certain she saw a shadow darken her friend's face a moment; then it was gone, and Truva doubted what she had seen, for Chaya merely said, "Damic?"
A tall, robust fighter with red hair, one who had participated in the southern campaign, stepped forward to say, "If it be your will, I will serve as chieftain to the best of my abilities."
"Look not to me," said Truva, "I trust in Chaya's judgement, that is all. Now, let us return these men to their bars, for it is undeniable that they have committed great transgressions. Select a few fighters to assist you until our return, Chief Damic, and may you mete out your prisoners' penance with goodwill and in accordance with your own discretion."
Having liberated the westernmost village, the Dúnedain and remaining Hidland fighters moved southeast to the next, which Durwood assured them was held by friendly fighters. Their ranks swelled further, and there they rested that evening until their work began anew the following morning. With the assistance of the Dúnedain and the ever-growing number of Hidland fighters, it was with ease that the company overcame all opposition, set forth terms, and selected a chieftain to maintain order in each subsequent village.
All the while, Chaya's perturbation grew increasingly apparent, however, and it was not until the third day that Truva came to understand why. As they dined on a simple breakfast of alpine strawberries, Chaya leaned in close and quietly asked, "Why is it that you only ask of me a recommendation for chieftain, and do not appoint me yourself? I, too, wish to protect my people as leader."
Truva blinked for a moment, realising that in her preoccupation she had neglected to inform Chaya of her plans. "Each of these villages are inextricably linked; should one fail, so shall they all," she replied. "Thus, the Valley would benefit greatly from a single centralised leader, one to whom all chieftains might turn for advice, one with the capability to arrange a response to any ill that may befall the Hidlands, and contact the Dúnedain if need be."
Chaya considered Truva's words for a time, absentmindedly twisting a berry from its stem, before she said, "Do you intend for me to take this role?"
"Indeed, I could trust none other," said Truva with a smile. With that misunderstanding resolved, Chaya attended to her duties with exceptional enthusiasm, though it was nigh on a week ere all villages in the Hidden Lands had felt the touch of justice, and new order was restored to the Valley.
The Hidland force split then, individual fighters returning to their respective villages with the promise to regularly report all progress in their new communities to Chaya. Truva and the Dúnedain made their way back to the first village, where Truva had spent so many years of her life and spilt so much blood. Chaya accompanied them, for her headquarters were to be established there.
After their arrival, the Dúnedain camped within the Coliseum, for the village still showed signs of great destruction, and there was no construction still standing that could accommodate them all. Though night had fallen, it did not bring any sense of foreboding, and the moon shone bright upon a cheerful scene. Even as Truva returned from a foraging expedition, ravenous for her supper, Halbarad pulled her aside, a great distance away from the others as not to be overheard.
"My dear Marshal of the Mark," he began, his hands fidgeting as he looked this way and that – anywhere save upon Truva, who eyed him suspiciously.
"Why is it that you address me with such formality?" she asked, observing him askance. "What is it that you want?"
"Only to know the date of your expected departure," said Halbarad, though his ardent tone and expression belied the banality of his question.
"At the earliest instance possible," replied Truva. "Now, I beg of you, please speak plainly as to your intentions!"
"Ah, it is only that—" Halbarad hesitated, a distracted smile playing upon his lips, "It is just that I wish to ask Chaya to marry me; I ask for your blessing, and that you would stay for the wedding!"
"My blessing?" Truva asked incredulously. Halbarad appeared crestfallen at her response.
"That is, if you would give it…" he trailed off.
"I will not give it!" Truva declared. Tears welled in Halbarad's eyes at these words, and in seeing him so, she took pity on him and proceeded to explain, "I will not give it, for it is not mine to give. The only blessing you need is that of Chaya herself."
Halbarad leapt to embrace her. "Oh, you are a terrible tease!"
With joy, Truva extricated herself from his arms. "And I shall most certainly stay until you are married!"
Scarcely three days later, the entire Valley was abuzz with the news of Chaya's marriage. In Truva's initial absence, Chaya had established herself as a proud, respectable fighter; and on the southern campaign she had further earned the respect of all. It was therefore with great enthusiasm that preparations for her marriage began.
Hidlanders from all villages came to join in the festivities, leaving only those most essential to guard their misbehaving prisoners. They gathered together and decorated the First Village with splendid garlands of flowers and what few ribbons could be scrimped up. All manner of foods were assembled, those that could be found, and arranged upon countless makeshift tables.
For the ceremony, throngs of Hidlanders assembled in the Coliseum. Though it was haunted by the remnants of distressing memories for a great many among them, the fighters wished to reimagine it as the setting of future happiness. Bouquets of irises and crocuses were scattered about, and green boughs had been woven along the ropes of the ring. It still stood, for as Durwood liked to say, "A friendly wrestling match now and then shan't hurt!"
Before the ceremony, Truva pulled Chaya aside. From her rucksack, she withdrew the silk bundle Aerin had given her upon their departure from Minas Tirith and handed it to Chaya, who accepted it bemusedly. For a slave turned warrior, to so much as hold such exquisite fabric felt irreverent.
"Go on, open it," encouraged Truva, and Chaya slowly undid the ribbons of the bundle to reveal a splendid dress of pure white. It was more perfect than the snow-capped mountaintops about them, with subtle embellishments of embroidery and ribbons, in the way a rabbit's gentle step might leave faint tracks upon freshly fallen snow.
"Oh Truva, it's beautiful!" Chaya gasped.
"Yet it is dull in comparison to your own radiance on this glorious day!" said Truva. "Now put it on, and go to receive he who seeks to be your partner in this life!"
Chaya and Halbarad stood then upon the canvas floor of the ring, which once had stood for the oppression of her people, only to be transformed into a symbol of their joy. There were none who outshone Chaya in the seamstress' dress, yet Halbarad also cut a commanding figure in his armour, simple but stately, off which the rays of the setting sun sent fiery beams.
Halbarad took Chaya's hands in his own, and spoke these words: "Blessed was the day your path crossed mine, though dark were the days that followed as we battled side by side against the evils of Mordor. Before you now, I swear that even should a more malevolent force arise, I would fight with you unto the end."
And in her response, Chaya said: "Long have you protected me, though you knew it not, and for that I shall ever be grateful. Strange it was that we had to cross to the far ends of this Earth to meet; yet in having done so, I shall never part from you again."
Upon these words they kissed, and the entire gathering burst into cheers and exclamations. The feast was arranged then, and though there was no abundance of food to be found in the Hidlands, the residents were determined to host the most luxurious feast they could manage. Smoked grouse and goose abounded, arrayed amongst plates of what few fresh vegetables and fruits could be found. Durwood even managed to procure a wheel of cheese and some wine, though the majority of revellers were more than content with the freely flowing ale.
Most merrymakers took to their beds very late that night, seeking out old spots of comfort in the barracks of the Fighters' Quarters, or simply rolling out a blanket wherever struck their fancy. None retired later than Truva and Chaya, however, who conversed and shared stories into the wee hours of the morning; for though it was her wedding night, Chaya knew it would soon be time for the Eorlingas warrior to return to the Riddermark and her awaiting King.
In spite of their cheery banter, the mood turned suddenly sombre as Truva refilled Chaya's chalice with wine. "My dear friend, I do not wish to spoil the joyous atmosphere this day has brought us; even so, there is yet one final word of caution I must give," she said.
"If you do not wish to spoil the evening, then speak not," said Chaya.
"If I did not think it necessary to speak, I would not," said Truva, reluctance apparent in her eyes. "Indeed, I had hoped some sign since the time of our arrival might negate my concern, yet it does not seem we are so fortunate."
"Very well, then say what you must," sighed Chaya.
"During our long talks on the ride from the Hidlands to Hornburg, I told you the tale of a terrible battle that occurred at said fortress, and of the Wizard that cast his forces against its great walls, only to be imprisoned in his own tower by the Walking Trees; do you recall?"
"I do," said Chaya.
"I have reason to suspect that the White One Durwood speaks of is the very same Wizard, though I know not how the Hidlanders so easily evaded the powers of his voice."
"I did think it strange how remarkably similar Durwood's description seemed to that which you gave me."
"You must consult with Halbarad; he is a great deal more familiar with the ways of Wizards than I, and will know how best to protect the Hidlands. I do not doubt Saruman has every intention of making good on his promise to return, though perhaps he is off causing trouble elsewhere for the moment."
"And you?" asked Chaya. "Will you not stay and help fortify this new homeland against evil doings, from both beyond and within?"
"I must return with all haste and inform Gandalf of what I have seen here," said Truva, a grimace marring her face. "Unfortunately, it seems as though his concerns were not without merit, and I imagine he will be desperately curious to learn of the situation in the north."
The conversation petered out for a spell. "I suppose this is goodbye, then," Chaya said at last.
"For now," said Truva. "I am sure I shall return ere too long, to ensure a smooth transition. It would be my eternal happiness if you and Halbarad were to visit the Mark, as well; for your stay was altogether too brief, and under the worst of circumstances. I wish to show you – or any Hidlander that desires it – the full hospitality of the Eorlingas."
"There is nothing more hospitable than the freedom they ensured all Hidlanders, through your doing," said Chaya.
"Even in comparison to freedom, the roast boar we lay upon our tables is not to be underestimated," Truva jested as the two friends rose to their feet and embraced. "May good fortune outweigh the bad in the times that are to come, and may your matrimony bring you the greatest of joys. Halbarad is a good man; please extend my felicitations to him, as well."
"I thank you, both for myself and all here who will lead unfettered lives, thanks to you," said Chaya. Truva pressed her friend's hand tightly one last time before they parted.