Author's recommended listening: Dvořák, String Quintet No. 3 in E-flat Major
CHAPTER XXX: THE MARRIAGE OF ÉOWYN
Out of a desire to evade drawn-out goodbyes, Truva rested only briefly the night of Halbarad and Chaya's wedding, then departed long before the sun rose. She trusted Roheryn to pick his sure-footed way along the trail in the purple haze of early dawn, for she could not turn her gaze from the stirring scenery. Even as she looked on, the snow upon the topmost reaches of Blackbramble Peak began to shift rosy – almost imperceptible at first – as the rising sun painted a flowery crown upon a stern mistress; thus the Valley's cruelty and beauty remained ever intertwined to Truva.
No sooner had Roheryn exited through the far side of the canyon and come upon the mountains' rolling foothills, however, than he took off southward at a breakneck pace, as though he knew of his new master's eagerness to return. Truva allowed him to set the pace, for still she did not know his strength, yet she found herself pleasantly surprised at the steed's swiftness.
Roheryn was no Mearas, it was true – for his smoothness of stride and power of limb were no match for that great race – yet his indefatigable determination gradually endeared Truva to him. Each day that passed, he led her deep into the night and rose with her before each dawn, but never did he waver or slow.
Time blurred together and became an indistinguishable cycle of riding and sleep, the landscape varying only slightly if ever Truva had the mind to observe it; there were no stories from Aragorn, nor the Hidlanders' banter to break the monotony. Still, travelling as a sole rider and mount had its advantages in that they drew no attention in their headlong dash along the foot of the Misty Mountains. Soon, in the early hours before yet another dawn, the River Isen could be heard crashing its course to the south.
Rather than cross its Fords as she so desperately longed to do, Truva instead banked northward and followed the path toward Isengard. With its source of water renewed, the scrubland had quickly flourished with summertime wildflowers, though the stumps of trees still pockmarked the land – a grievous hurt that would take considerably longer to recover.
When the Wizard's Vale came into view, awash in the morning light, a gasp escaped Truva's lips. The thick walls of granite had been razed, and were now no more than a scar that encircled Orthanc. Within its borders was a garden of breathtaking beauty; trees embroidered roots into the lush earth, where grasses and mosses and ferns had overcome the filth that once evidenced Saruman's industry. Despite this heartening change, dark waters still pooled about the foot of the sleek, foreboding tower.
Truva dismounted in the midst of a peach orchard, through which a pleasant stream ran. She allowed Roheryn to drink as she approached one of the trees in awe, for it was not at all like the others, and had grown so much taller, its leaves so much more vibrant. Yet even as she stretched out her hand toward its gleaming bark, the trunk began to shift and its branches began to tremble.
Truva leapt back, only to see the tree unfold before her into a vast, willowy Ent.
"I am terribly sorry, I did not realise you were an Ent!" she cried. "I have never seen one stand so entirely still."
"Standing still is one of my favourite things to do," it said in the characteristic thrum of the living Trees, "Yet not oft have I been afforded such pleasures of late; no, I was not standing still, I was standing guard over this fortress! Though it is true I have little cause to do so, for Orthanc has seen very few visitors since you and the other horsemasters came and went."
"Do you know me?" asked Truva in wonder. "I only recall having met Treebeard."
"We see all that occurs within the Wizard's Vale, and beyond," it said, "And as in all things, the Ents are not quick to forget."
"I see," replied Truva, before recalling her purpose. "Where might I find Treebeard, for I wish to speak with him."
"Even more hasty than the Hobbits, you seem!" said the Ent. "But Treebeard is at work up in the valley; there is much still to be done. What business is it that brings you to Isengard?"
"I would like to know the whereabouts of Saruman the Wizard."
"Ah yes, then perhaps you had best sit a while, for Treebeard will have much to say on that matter. Might I offer you a drop of water?"
"That would be greatly appreciated, for my journey has left me parched," said Truva. "To whom do I owe the honour of supping upon the Ents' legendary elixir?"
"You may call me Quickbeam, and all I ask in exchange is your tale since last you left this Vale," said the Ent as he filled a bowl from a stone jar and passed it to her.
"Perhaps it would be better to hear a more informed version from King Aragorn," Truva hazarded.
"Each branch of a tree has its own unique perspective," said Quickbeam. "I asked for yours."
"Very well, then," said Truva, taking a deep draught of water. All at once her concern over Saruman seemed to fade as she narrated the peculiar story of her recent adventures, and soon the sun began to drift overhead. After a time, Quickbeam took Truva in his spindly fingers and allowed her to perch in his lofty branches while he ambled about the gardens of the Treegarth. She spoke to him of the Hidlanders and their southward dash, of Dunharrow and the Drúedain, of Mundburg and the Black Gates and Mordor, and of all the loss and sorrow in between.
By the time her tale drew to a close, the two had returned once more to the peach orchard, and Truva sat with her back against Quickbeam's stout trunk, his leafy canopy shading her from the sweltering rays of late afternoon sun. The gentle soughing of his branches in the light wind could almost be mistaken for weeping.
"Though the horsemasters' lives be so short, their emotions are all the more fierce for it. Like a rowan tree you are; however oft you are bent by the storms of this world, you return upright. I shall call you Carnimírië, after one sapling that took root when I was but an Enting, many many years ago in the quiet of the world."
He paused a moment, and his branches drooped slightly, as if overcome by a great melancholy. "I do not believe you shall suffer their same fate." Quickbeam then raised his voice in song, a lament in tones many of which Truva could not hear. Yet even as the final notes fell away, a hoom-homming drifted upon the air, and Treebeard appeared around the curve of Orthanc.
"A visitor to the Treegarth!" he said, "Hrum, welcome, weary traveller, though I see Quickbeam has gone to great lengths to ensure your ease, a-hroom!"
"Treebeard!" exclaimed Truva, leaping at once to her feet. "Glad I am to see you at last! I have come to inquire after the Wizard Saruman."
"Long had I believed Gandalf to be hasty, yet lately I learnt I knew not the true meaning of the word," hummed the Ent. "You wish to learn whether Saruman resides still in the Tower, I suppose."
Treebeard's perception gave Truva pause. "Precisely; how did you know?"
"Why else would such a peculiar visitor come in such a rush?" said Treebeard. "Hoom, Saruman is gone; I let him go. Gandalf knows this well: that above all I hate the caging of live things, and I will not keep even such creatures as these caged beyond great need. And I kept Saruman until he was safe, safe from doing any more harm; a tree without its leaves casts no shade."
"Even so, its roots might delve deeper into the earth than can be discerned," said Truva. "I see not even the Ents are immune to Saruman's persuasion. Already the Wizard is causing strife in the north, and I suspect there are few who can rein him in save Gandalf."
"Then I look forward to the White Wizard's reprimand, rárum, which I am sure is to come anon," said Treebeard, and if a tree could frown, it most certainly did then. "Until that time, fare thee well, horsemaster; for I see you are anxious to take to the road once more. May you walk ever peacefully beneath the branches of Fangorn."
And with that, the ancient Tree lurched off in the direction of the western Vale. Although Truva was left with a great many questions, her most pressing one had a clear and indisputable answer: Saruman was no longer contained within Orthanc. Gandalf must be informed immediately.
She mounted Roheryn, yet allowed her pace to slow when it became apparent to her that Quickbeam wished to accompany her as far as the hewn gate.
"Little Carnimírië," he said, "I thank you for your tale. I hope someday you return under more fortuitous circumstances, so that I might introduce you to the rowan trees that grow renewed in the garden of my home."
"I should like that very much," said Truva.
"Farewell, then," said Quickbeam, and even as she looked back from the crest of the furthest hill, Truva could see his branches waving in the evening light.
When she had dipped out of sight, Truva continued on into the gathering darkness and made camp just before the Fords. She constructed a cursory fire from gathered wood, then stared for quite some time out across the flames onto the rippling waters of the Isen. Moonlight glittered upon its surface, its flow unbroken save the single eyot, mounded high and crowned with spears.
After a great deal of hesitation, Truva arose and waded through the shallows. She knelt upon the sand and rock, gathering it in her hands and letting it slip through her fingers; a meaningless gesture in search of significance. With each deep breath she took, she sought the strength to begin, and each time failed.
"Oh, Théodred," she whispered at last. "What am I to do? What duty must I execute next? The Hidlanders will do well in the hands of Chaya, and soon Gandalf will know of the trouble in the North. I long to return to Éomer King and serve the Mark, yet things no longer are as they once were.
"I yearn to see your cheerful face, and that of Théoden King, and of Éofa," said Truva, and though she had long believed the time for weeping to be past, she found that tears streaked down her face nevertheless. "I wish to hear your voices, your encouragement, your reassurances; yet even as I peer into this emptiness that gapes in my chest, there is one who would stand guard at its edges, full knowing such a void can never be closed.
"Must I guard this pain on my own, or might I allow another to take up the heavy mantle?" she asked. Théodred did not answer. Even so, Truva knew what he would say, and so after another breath of reflection, she wiped her eyes and returned to Roheryn and her fire, which continued to burn.
It was thus that Truva crossed the Fords and passed back into the lands of the Mark the following morning. She breathed in deep even as she did so, closing her eyes and allowing the scent of her adopted homeland to settle into her lungs. She paused but a moment before pressing on.
The great North-South Road flew beneath the hooves of Roheryn, and Truva slept no more than a few hours each time she made camp. All too soon, the walls of Edoras reared up in the distance, the sight of which caused Truva's heart to swell and near move her to tears. Perhaps, perhaps she could rest at long last in the place she most earnestly considered home.
When she drew near, a cry rang out. "Hail Truva, Marshal of the Mark!" came the sentinel's voice as newly reinforced gates, heavy with the scent of fresh wood, swung open to admit her.
A great crowd had gathered just within, and when Truva entered they struck up a deafening cheer. The prettiest arrangements of wildflowers were handed to her or stuffed into every crack and crevice of her tack, which Roheryn was perfectly happy to tolerate. More than a few puzzled comments were made with regard to an Eorlingas warrior riding a foreign mount, yet none would be distracted from their overall purpose of welcoming a returning hero.
Hardly had they begun to smother Truva with adulations and gifts than a tall, stately figure rushed down the hill from Meduseld. Truva dismounted immediately and bowed when she recognised the man upon his approach.
"Erkenbrand Marshal!" she said. "Glad I am to see you well."
"And I, you," said the Marshal of the West-mark. "However, if you wish to stand guard upon the return of my lord Théoden King and Marshal Éofa, you must hasten to the lands of Gondor! The delegation left some two days ago, though they travel at a leisurely pace. You might overtake them yet, if you leave now and ride hard."
"Ah, how I longed for a respite, however brief! Yet so hard upon my arrival must I depart," said Truva forlornly. Even so, she gratefully accepted the bundle of provisions Erkenbrand Marshal proffered – assuring her it included the freshest bread and a particularly well-cured cheese – then remounted immediately and turned back toward the gate. She bid the well-wishers gathered there goodbye, thanking them for raising her spirits and apologising that she could not tarry longer among them.
Then, with a heavy sigh of regret, Truva set out once more upon the Great Road and continued southeastward toward Mundburg and Gondor. She followed Erkenbrand's recommendation, setting as fast a pace as Roheryn found manageable, and allowed the thought of being reunited with both Éomer King and his father to allay her exhaustion.
It was in the early evening of the third day when the caravan at last came into sight. Truva observed as they set up camp far in the distance, lit up against the evening sky along the crest of a hill, and rode through the gathering darkness so that she might reach them before morning.
A few hours after midnight she encountered the sentries, and gave a start as they called out, "Hail Truva, Marshal of the Mark!"
Truva shushed them gently, though it amused her to recall the similar way in which she had once greeted Marshals during her own days of posting watch. "No use rousing the King," she said, "For a greeting is just as good in the morning as it is immediately upon arrival, if not better – for I will not have disturbed his rest."
Truva slipped into camp and tied Roheryn to the hitching post, where the other mounts eyed this strange newcomer with distrust. Truva kept an eye on him to ensure there was no trouble as she settled in for the remainder of the night, the weather mild enough and the night deep enough that she required nothing more than her cloak as a blanket.
The Eorlingas began to stir just before dawn, and it was to great exclamations that Truva's appearance was noticed.
"Truva!" came a shout, and suddenly Truva found herself engulfed in Éowyn's embrace. "We thought you would never make it! I entreated him to wait longer, yet Éomer insisted that we go, for there was no way of knowing when you might return – or if you ever would, so he said. Imagine believing you would never return!"
"An entirely silly notion, I am sure!" said Truva, seizing Éowyn in return and noting the approach of Éomer King over the Eorlingas maiden's shoulder. "Not return, me? Preposterous!"
"I was right in my assessment that the distant rider we spied yesterday evening was you!" Éomer King declared as Truva bowed before him. "I see the horses of the Dúnedain nearly rival our own in fleetness, if you were able to cover such a distance in a night."
"Indeed, Roheryn has proven a worthy mount; yet my heart still grieves for Bron and all those we lost in recent days," said Truva, suddenly downcast.
"Aye, as do we all," said Éomer King, drawing her into his arms. "For great were our losses, and even now we go to lay our greatest to rest."
"You will join us, then?" asked Éowyn.
"It would be an immutable stain upon my conscience if I did not ride to honour my fallen King and his loyal Marshal in their final journey," Truva replied.
"Verily," said Éomer King, "And glad we are to have your company. Let us break fast now, then we may exchange stories when we start upon our way."
It took unexpectedly long for the caravan to take to the Road again, however, as breakfast stretched on for quite some time and the party was unhurried in their preparations. Only then did Truva remember the others knew not of the situation in the north, and thus felt no call for haste. Reluctant to spoil the mood, and convinced a few hours delay in speaking to Gandalf would have minimal impact, she allowed the easygoing mood to overtake her.
At great last the company set off, and Truva rode at the head with Éomer King, Elfhelm Marshal and Éowyn. Not to be overheard, she quietly told them of how the Hidlanders and Dúnedain had pressed northward and found the Valley in disarray. She spoke too of how Gandalf's concerns of unrest had not been unfounded, yet that it was civil strife – not the ill will of Mordor – that primarily troubled them. Saruman she mentioned but briefly.
"And once the Hidlanders had brought order to each village, we celebrated the marriage of Chaya and Halbarad," she concluded.
Éomer King's face spoke of his utter shock, but Éowyn rounded upon him and cried, "Ah-hah, I knew it! Did I not tell you there was some spark between those two?"
"I concede, you were correct!" the King said. "Never would I have guessed it, though I wish them well and hope they come among us ere too long, so that we likewise might rejoice!"
"I told them as much," said Truva. "And what of you? How fared the Eorlingas' return to Edoras?"
"I suppose in comparison our own events were a fair deal less thrilling," said the King. "We were reunited with our people in Dunharrow – though in the very span of our absence, a rogue band of Orcs that had evaded the nets of Elfhelm set upon the capital."
"They were dealt with quite efficiently, for we had left a great force within Edoras," added Elfhelm Marshal, "Yet the damage their fires did to our defences was extensive."
"I suppose that is why the gates smelled so strongly of pine," said Truva.
"The very reason!" said the Marshal.
"Well, it is with immense relief that I find you safe," said Truva.
"All is well that ends well," added Éowyn, and they each fell into their own thoughts, giving in to the languorous rhythm of their travels.
Several uneventful days passed before the company once more laid eyes upon the foot of Mindolluin. When the Rammas Echor came into view, there, directly above the gate of the northerly entrance stood a figure, striking and proud in the late morning sunlight: Faramir, come to welcome his betrothed. Éowyn waved enthusiastically, though to her great disappointment he did not return the gesture; instead, he disappeared from sight, then immediately reappeared upon his steed and rode out to meet them.
When he drew near, Faramir leapt from his horse, then assisted Éowyn down from her own so that they might embrace. Truva and Éomer King exchanged a significant glance, after which they rode on and allowed the two to greet each other undisturbed.
The company reached the main gates of the White City before long, and saw that the hastily erected barrier stood there still. A deafening fanfare greeted them, and with great effort the barrier was shifted aside to allow them through. It was just beyond the gate that King Aragorn descended to welcome the Riders, dressed splendidly in velvet robes of sable, yet free of all adornment. Even devoid of crown, the Dúnadan's noble bearing spoke unmistakably of his lineage, and Truva found herself unable to meet the gaze that sought her out.
"My lord!" cried Éomer King, dismounting to bow before his counterpart.
"Well met, indeed!" replied Aragorn, dismissing Éomer's formal salutations and embracing him instead. "Your departure from these walls was not so long ago, and yet it seems like an eternity."
"I can assure you we made all haste in our return."
"I doubt it not. Come, wash up and we shall dine together. Now that the numerous armies have returned from whence they came, I can provide the Eorlingas with rather improved accommodations, in recompense for such lacking hospitality upon our last meeting."
"Nonsense," said Éomer. "Never have I found your hospitality wanting." He took Firefoot's reins in hand and walked beside Aragorn as the two ascended the streets of the city, the company strung out behind. Truva and Elfhelm likewise dismounted, though they fell a short distance back from the two kings.
"And what of Éowyn?" said Aragorn. "It was my understanding that some grand event was to be held upon her return. There is a certain Steward among us who will be heartbroken to learn she has not come."
Éomer laughed heartily at these words. "Your man is quite eager! They are together even now, for we met Lord Faramir upon the Rammas."
"I might have known," laughed Aragorn, yet even as the leaders conversed Truva slipped to the rear of the caravan and surreptitiously took her leave; for upon the seventh level of the city there was another errand for her to see to.
The bell tinkled pleasantly as Truva entered the seamstress' shop. As one, their heads snapped up and the chatter commenced.
"Oh, we are so happy you have returned! — We heard there is to be a splendid event! — So we rushed to complete your gown, of course — couldn't possibly renege on our promise yet again! — Did Chaya approve of her dress? — Was she absolutely stunning?"
Truva laughed and held up her hands in surrender. "You could not have possibly designed a more flawless garment," she said. "Indeed, Chaya was married to Halbarad in it some weeks ago. She appeared wholly unearthly upon that day, in part thanks to your skills."
"Did I not say!" Aerin exclaimed to her companions. "Destiny tied a tether between those two, sure enough! Anyway, I'm sure you've business to attend to, having just arrived. The dress shall be sent to your new accommodations, you needn't fuss."
"Though your actions lie far beyond necessity, I thank you," said Truva, embracing the seamstresses once more before departing.
She ascended then to the stables where the Eorlingas lingered still, untacking and grooming their horses. Truva led Roheryn to his lavish stall and followed suit, paying especial attention to each step, for he had borne her far and fast and it was Truva's first opportunity to fully demonstrate her appreciation.
"You show great care for your horse," said a hushed voice behind her, and Truva spun about to find Aragorn standing in the stall entrance, tall and sure. Truva had taken so long in tending to Roheryn that all the Eorlingas had retired to their quarters, leaving her alone with the King. Abruptly reminded of the peculiar incident when they had tussled in the dark stables of Edoras, Truva felt torn between laughter and shame; how long ago now it seemed!
"He is not mine, though I treat him all the better for it," was all she said, focusing intently on the burrs that had gathered at the tip of Roheryn's obsidian tail.
"Is he not?" said the King, with an indecipherable look in his eyes. "Be that as it may, it is a fine commander he bears – one for whom a room befitting of her status has been prepared, just beside that of Éomer King and Elfhelm Marshal. Now, as loath as I am to part with such a distinguished guest, I must beg my leave, as I've a great many matters to attend to. A guard will show you to these accommodations when you are ready; but please take your time, for your horse is deserving of unmitigated attention."
"Not my horse!" she protested as the King spun upon his heel and walked away, leaving in his wake a guard to escort her. Truva concluded the grooming process slowly and with purpose, for the singular reason that Roheryn was deserving of such pampering, and not because the King had ordered it.
At great last she indicated to the guard that her work was done, and after a brief disagreement over who would carry her effects, Truva found herself following the guard through the immaculate streets. He led her to an avenue on the north side of the City where pretty, two-storied houses were neatly aligned in a row, set within the inner wall. Once they had climbed the stairs of the third apartment, the guard let her in, set her modest pack beside the door, then closed the door behind him as he left.
The room was elegant beyond compare, its white marble floors richly carpeted with plush furs. Low chairs and a table stood in toward the rear, and a bed had been pushed against the far wall. Upon sniffing carefully, Truva determined that both mattress and coverlet were stuffed unstintingly with goose down, a luxury she had only ever heard rumour of. It was certainly a far cry from the hay-strewn hall she had previously shared with the Hidland company.
Truva strode to where three tall windows looked out across the cobbled street and onto the fields of the Pelennor. Suddenly she understood why the room felt so familiar: it was nearly identical to that which Gandalf had summoned her to before the Hidlanders' departure from Minas Tirith; identical, save a touch more hospitable, for the bouquet of simbelmynë that sat in a glass vase upon the table had most assuredly not been present in Gandalf's accommodations.
A knock sounded at the door, breaking Truva from her reverie. "Truva?" came the voice of Éomer King. "Have you washed up? We have been invited to lunch."
"Coming!" Truva shouted in reply, rushing to pour a pitcher of prepared water – still warm – into the basin that sat in the corner. She quickly rinsed her face and arms, not pausing to so much as towel off before she pulled open the door, nearly colliding with the waiting King and Marshal Elfhelm.
Many of the Eorlingas had already gathered in the sixth tier mess hall by the time the trio of leaders arrived. There was a great deal of cheery conversation, for the Riders' spirit had been aided by ale served in anticipation of the meal. Éowyn and Faramir were there also, sitting at the far end of the long tables, and Truva enthusiastically accepted a frothy mug from the Eorlingas maiden as she slipped into the bench beside them.
King Aragorn arrived shortly after, despite his frantic schedule, and with him came the four Halflings, who were ever enthusiastic for any occasion to eat. Even Gandalf deigned to grace them with his presence, as did the sons of Elrond, though neither Legolas nor Gimli were anywhere to be seen. Soon, all present were devouring a light but splendid meal together.
"How do you find your accommodations?" asked King Aragorn of Éomer, though his eyes were upon Truva.
"Unparalleled!" exclaimed the Eorlingas king. "The great Anduin weaving past one's bedroom window is a most spectacular sight, one that I missed when we were away."
"Thus is the hospitality of the Tower of the Sun, which is ever at the beck and call of our northerly neighbours," said Aragorn, before lowering his voice. "On matters more serious, however, it is a grave task that bids you return to our walls, is it not?"
"It is certainly not a happy one," said Éomer, for though Théoden King had lived long and died gloriously, the absence of his kindly influence had not gone unfelt, as a chord deprived of its root note. So, too, had the silence that replaced Éofa's laughter grown heavy.
"I do not wish to sully the memory of two such illustrious warriors," Aragorn began cautiously, "Yet perhaps they would not grudge that some joyous news mingles with the sad?"
"I daresay that depends on the news," said Éomer, circumspect.
"Do you not know, brother?" Éowyn interrupted. "I wish to be married!"
"Now?" Here?" exclaimed her brother, shock evident upon his face. "Though I knew of your intentions, I was not aware that you desired so soon a union!"
"I do, if you will allow it," Éowyn said sheepishly. "We would be wed in the garden of the Houses of Healing, where first we met and fell in love."
"How could I possibly object to such happy news?" cried Éomer, "Nor do I believe Théoden King or Éofa's hearts would stand in opposition! Indeed, I am certain they would rejoice, for ever they were family to us."
And so arrangements were made for the wedding between these proud figures of Rohan and Gondor, to take place three days hence. Throughout the city there was talk of naught else save the festivities, for Prince Faramir had served his people with devotion during his father's time as Steward, and was beloved by his people. While it was but recently that Éowyn had come to Minas Tirith, its residents knew her as the fierce shieldmaiden of the North who had slayed the Witch-King; for Faramir to have chosen such a warrior as his bride, they trusted she was both fair in body and in spirit.
An envoy sailed in from Dol Amroth the day following the Eorlingas' arrival, for its royal family had long ago been informed of the marriage rumours – Faramir was, after all, Prince Imrahil's sister-son by way of Finduilas. The uncle doted upon Faramir as much as the physical distance between them allowed, as did his many cousins, though it was but the youngest, Lothíriel, who accompanied her father.
At great last, and only after much pandemonium, the day of the ceremony arrived. Having few of her own duties to tend to, Truva enjoyed a rare idle morning. Though she still could not shake the long established habit of rising early, she lounged in the early morning sun that streamed in through the windows as she ate a simple breakfast of bread and cheese.
As the sun progressed toward its zenith, however, Truva could no longer withstand her indolence. Thinking it best to wash before the formalities began, she ventured carefully out into the streets and once more sought the bathhouse. A good many other residents had evidently arrived at the same conclusion, however, for Truva was greeted by a deafening ruckus as she stepped inside.
The master bade her halt at the entrance, and Truva retreated back out the door, apologising. "I am terribly sorry, are you too busy? I can wash up in my accommodations if necessary," she began, yet the master dismissed this notion.
"No, no, not at all!" he said, beckoning for her to enter once more. "Rather, I am under the strictest orders to provide you with specific facilities."
He led her around the corner and ascended a narrow flight of stairs, then another and another, until at last they emerged onto the rooftop. A pavilion encircled the space on three sides, shielding it from prying eyes with fine white linen curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze. Eastward stretched an unobstructed view of the Pelennor, hemmed in by the glimmering Anduin and Ephel Dúath beyond.
"Please enjoy a leisurely rest, courtesy of the King," said the master, bowing and closing the door behind him as he exited.
"The King," murmured Truva to herself, awash in a mix of emotions. Since her arrival, she had seen Aragorn but thrice, for he was unceasingly engaged with foreign dignitaries and innumerable councils; there were cities to be rebuilt and lands to be reunited, and other kingly duties she could but guess. Even so, Truva wondered whether he did not make himself excessively busy, as to avoid hearing yet another refusal of his attentions.
Dismissing this notion with a shake of her head, Truva glanced about the three small marble baths arrayed across the rooftop, a basket of towels warmed by heated rocks nearby. Green foliage grew in pots carefully arranged, and when Truva inhaled, she was met with the aroma of lavender and rose. Only faint laughter filtered up from the baths below.
Truva knew not how long she lingered in those healing waters – being fairly certain she had dozed off several times – yet the shadows on the terrace gradually began to lengthen as the commotion in the city grew. Waking with a start, she quickly dried herself and hurried back downstairs, thanking the proprietor on her way out. When she exited onto the street and turned in the direction of her accommodations, Truva found herself battling through rushing currents of merrymakers.
A white silk bundle lay upon the landing when she returned to her quarters. Truva lifted it gingerly in her hands, and though she could easily surmise as to what it contained, she was hesitant to open the package. She feared she could not do the seamstress' work justice in the way Chaya upon her wedding day had.
Once inside, Truva sat at the table and unwrapped the silk bundle to reveal a glimmering gown of silver. Wave upon chiffon wave slipped over silk, tumbling down into her arms and pooling in her lap. Truva was left breathless, for she had not known that anything made by the hands of Man could be so wondrous. Marvelling at the seamstress' skills, she swiftly donned the garment just as sonorous bells rang to signal the approach of the ceremony.
No longer bearing the Eorlingas livery, Truva became indistinguishable from the throngs of residents in the streets; as a result, all the whispered remarks and incessant hailing that ordinarily followed her suddenly ceased. It was with joy that Truva accepted this invisibility – that is, until she sought to enter the garden where the ceremony was to be held.
All manner of people had crowded around the Houses of Healing, desperate for a glimpse of the happy couple. Truva's timidity and gentleness as she attempted to pass through was callously rebuffed by the crowds. It was then that Éomer King arrived, looking splendid in his finest armour and golden hair braided anew, though even he failed to recognise Truva when she waved frantically to him. After a comical double-take, he rushed to her side.
"Why do you tarry beyond the gates of the garden?" he asked. "And what is it that you are wearing?"
"These crowds are impassable! None know me outside of uniform," Truva lamented. "And I am wearing a dress; I am certain it is not the first time you have seen one!"
"Yes, but long has it been since I last saw one on you," he laughed. "Follow me – I shall part these masses!"
The resplendent King of the northern realm passed through the multitude of Gondorians with ease, clearing a path for Truva as he went, and at last they arrived in the garden proper. Elfhelm Marshal was already seated there, speaking with the sons of Elrond. The four Holbytlas sprawled on the grass beside them, saying the ground was more comfortable than the chairs of Men in which their feet did not reach the ground.
As Éomer King made directly toward the battlements, intent upon greeting Prince Imrahil who stood there with his daughter, Truva gravitated toward the rear of the assembly. She watched with delight as her King grew maladroit in his attempts to converse with Lothíriel, for it seemed that soon it would be her lord's turn to share joyous news.
It was then that Truva quite suddenly noticed the presence of Gandalf, who materialised as though he had been there all along. She made as if to approach, for though she had sought to speak with him many times regarding Saruman, the Wizard had been even more elusive than King Aragorn and Truva feared she would lose her opportunity. Yet she had not gone two strides before that very same voice spoke beside her, causing her to jump.
"They would make an impressive couple, would they not?" asked Aragorn, gazing upon the blushing faces of Éomer and Lothíriel.
"More importantly, I do believe they would make a happy couple," Truva replied as she struggled to calm her racing heart.
"For it is man's heart – not his head – that is bewitched by the wonders of a woman," said Aragorn, though his cryptic meaning evaded Truva. Before she could ask, however, the King strode forward and mounted the battlement stairs. The hum of voices swelled at once to an uproar, for at every point in the city from which the garden was visible, people were crammed shoulder to shoulder without sufficient space to so much as scratch their nose.
"Citizens of Minas Tirith, Riders of Rohan, visitors and guests, welcome!" King Aragorn cried as the din grew louder and trumpets blared their fanfare. "We have all come together on this day to celebrate the union of two heroes among us: Captain Faramir of Ithilien, Lord of Emyn Arnen, Steward to the King of Gondor, and Lady Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan, slayer of the Lord of the Nazgûl."
At these last words, a brief shudder and a shadow ran through those gathered, for the mere memory of such evil cast a chill upon the air; yet it was by Éowyn's hand that they had been shielded from its touch, and that bore remembrance. Even so, swiftly did the crowds rouse themselves and the hush that had fallen disappear, for in that moment Éowyn and Faramir emerged as one from the Houses of Healing.
Lord Faramir cut a splendid figure in his sable livery, yet in comparison to his bride the Steward appeared entirely ordinary; never had Truva seen Éowyn look so ethereal, or her expression more euphoric. The Eorlingas maiden moved with an unearthly grace, the deep blue folds of her skirts swirling about her like the currents of the river Anduin itself.
"It is a pretty dress, is it not?" Once more Truva leapt to hear a voice suddenly by her side, though this belonged to Aerin, alone and unaccompanied by the other seamstresses.
"Wholly breathtaking," said Truva. "You outdo yourself with each successive garment."
"Perhaps," mused Aerin, reaching out to adjust the liquid moonlight Truva was garbed in even as King Aragorn drawled on with the ceremony. "Though in truth I am not sure I shall ever outdo this one, unless it be for your own wedding."
"My own wedding?" said Truva with a wry smile. "I consider myself married to duty."
"That is a fair life, to be sure, yet falling in love does not an abandonment of duty make," said Aerin, fixing Truva with a sidelong glance. The two fell silent then as they watched Mindolluin rise up with open arms to meet the setting sun, mountain and flame coming together even as Faramir and Éowyn did.
"Do you know what it was that inspired us to select that colour for your Eorlingas shieldmaiden's robe, the deep blue of a summer night?" Aerin began again, unprompted.
"I do not," answered Truva. "What was your reasoning?"
"It is the colour of the mantle Faramir gifted her as they waited here upon these very walls for the Armies' return from Morannon. The mantle was that of his mother, whom he loved dearly, and upon witnessing Éowyn dressed in such raiment he knew her to be a woman most singular," said Aerin. "We do not simply create garments for their aesthetics, you see; each must bear its own significance."
"What of Chaya's dress, then?" Truva asked.
"For one so pure and soon to be married, from the snowy regions of the north? There was no other choice save white, though to be frank I did worry that it would become sullied upon your journey."
"It brings me joy to inform you that it did not," said Truva, her smile returning. "I see you give great consideration to every aspect of your work."
Aerin paused momentarily. "Do you not wish to know the meaning behind your own vesture?" she asked.
Truva glanced at her companion and, seeing the sparkle in Aerin's eye, suspected that she did not have much choice. "Very well, what was it that you had in mind?"
"It is the colour of the rayed star that you keep pinned to you even now."
Truva started, yet even as she gazed in wonder Aerin extended her arm and pulled aside a wave of fabric at Truva's hip, revealing the silver Star of the Dúnedain.
"How could you possibly—?"
"The fabric was puckered," explained Aerin with a wink. "I might have scolded a lesser client for so unabashedly ruining silk, yet I suppose I shall make an exception in your case. Allow me to fix it for you."
As the seamstress readjusted the pin so that it did not interfere with the lines of Truva's dress, she continued, "We discovered the Star upon laundering your clothes the first time we met, do you recall? We did not know its significance at first, and though all manner of liveries wandered the city in those few days, we soon discovered those northern warriors who wore such a clasp to fasten their stately, austere uniform."
And in that moment – at the final kiss of land and sun – a ray of amber light streaked out across the highest peak of Mindolluin and glanced off the Star, blinding King Aragorn upon the battlements even as Truva rushed to conceal it once more beneath the folds of her dress. In that very same moment, bells rang and trumpets blared out their fanfare, and the people of Minas Tirith lent their voices to the clamour that announced the union of Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn.
The city dissipated into chaos as the masses retired to their many halls, eager to indulge in the great feasts they had prepared. King Aragorn led the newlyweds and their party to the Citadel, where a most magnificent spread had been laid out for the revellers in Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts. There was music and dancing, much to Truva's chagrin; yet in recalling the previous occasion on which they had been subjected to her musical capabilities, the Gondorians were politely understanding of Truva's refusal to do little more than sit and enjoy the fare.
Elfhelm Marshal, on the contrary, proved to be a surprisingly lithe dancer, and it was to roaring approval that several of the Holbytlas graced the merrymakers with lighthearted ditties from their native Shire. In turn, each of the Elves lent their voices in congratulation of the newlyweds, and even Gimli surprised them with an unexpectedly soulful ballad.
Entirely oblivious to all others, Éomer King devoted his time to entertaining the princess Lothíriel, as she did to him. Whether it be conversation, dining, or dancing, the two were always to be seen together, and the smile their interaction brought to Prince Imrahil's face was the source of even further joy within the celebration.
The bride and groom disappeared early in the night, as did King Aragorn, yet the food and wine flowed freely. Each time a dish was wholly consumed, a new and more astounding delicacy was brought forth, and despite her insatiable appetite even Truva found it challenging to sample from every plate. At last she grew drowsy, though she knew not whether her somnolence was due to the lateness of hour or the warm, cosy atmosphere of Merethrond.
She withdrew surreptitiously, despite there being little need for caution, for the revellers were wholly distracted in their merrymaking. The streets outside were loud with carousing and celebration, every corner and alleyway hosting a feast in the name of the couple. It warmed Truva's heart to see the people's affection for their Prince and his bride from the North, yet she was thankful for the quietude that descended when she turned onto her own street.
Just as she was about to climb the stairs to her accommodations, Truva observed another figure emerge from a similar house up the street. His billowing white robes immediately identified him as Gandalf, though it was only then that Truva recalled he had disappeared directly after the ceremony, never making an appearance at the feast.
His footsteps grew swifter as he approached. "Ah, Truva!" the Wizard exclaimed. "Just the person I was hoping to see!"
"Me, sir?" asked Truva, ever wary of Gandalf's interest; the last time he had sought her out, it had resulted in a wearying, weeks-long journey and kin-strife.
"Unless you have become someone other than Truva since last we met?" he asked in jest, leading her back up the street toward his own quarters as his tone turned suddenly solemn. "I heard tell from Éomer King that you did indeed return northward?"
"I have wanted to speak with you on that matter," she said. "In returning to the Valley, I came to learn that Saruman escaped his prison and lurks in the north, causing trouble. Though the Hidlanders did not know his name - and easily rebuffed his mideeds - I knew it could be no other; and upon visiting Orthanc it seemed evident that Treebeard had fallen victim to the Wizard's honeyed words."
"It is as I thought," Gandalf mused as they ascended the stair to his apartment. "And I do not doubt he will be content merely to assail the Hidlanders; there will be others at risk. Was your venture otherwise successful?"
"I suppose you could characterise it— in such a way," said Truva, stuttering when the Wizard opened the door to reveal that his apartment was not deserted: upon a chair in the corner sat King Aragorn, legs casually stretched before him and a gently smoking pipe at his mouth. The image of Strider once more flitted momentarily before Truva's eyes.
"Well, I should hazard that the Dúnedain of the north now have a vested interest in ensuring the Hidlands' peace," commented the Wizard, wholly ignoring the presence of the King.
"You refer to Halbarad's marriage to Chaya?" Truva asked.
"Precisely," said Gandalf.
"The Dúnedain are just, and long have they protected the lands of Eriador without any selfish motivation," said Truva. "I believe it is in bad faith to attribute their kindly action to such base purpose."
Gandalf considered this a moment before altering tack entirely. "I have been led to believe you possess no knowledge of your parentage. Is this correct?" he said. Truva was startled by this unexpected inquiry, yet the Wizard was inscrutable as ever and gave no indication as to his intent.
"Yes," came her simple reply.
"Have you any desire to learn of your origins?" he asked.
Truva weighed Gandalf's question carefully, though the only honest answer she could give was, "I do not know."
"There are a great many factors one's parentage may affect, such as predisposition, race, rank, and longevity," Gandalf said, clearly affecting nonchalance. Truva scrutinised the Wizard intently, for this was a list of traits she knew him to believe of little significance, if not wholly irrelevant; his attitude had always suggested that one's mettle and behaviour superseded immutable physical qualities.
"In all fairness," said King Aragorn, breaking his brooding silence at great last, "To warriors such as ourselves – who, by necessity, often confront death – an indifference with regard to longevity ought to be understandable."
"Unfortunately," the Wizard continued, addressing Truva directly, "Your parentage might bear greater significance than either you or I could imagine; not only for your own life, but for that of a great many others, as well."
Truva glanced from Gandalf to Aragorn and back, a puzzled expression forming upon her brow. "Are you— are you perhaps suggesting that I seek out my lineage, in the hopes that it be of some elevated status; thus Aragorn would not be shamed in pursuing a common soldier?"
All three stood as if transfixed, unspeaking for some time, then the Wizard and the King burst into laughter. Truva looked on nonplussed, for not only had her assumption been seemingly incorrect, it was she herself who had broached the single topic she had been most desperate to avoid.
It took a great while for Gandalf to regain his composure, though a chuckle still broke through his words now and then when he said, "Ah, I daresay that was a rather unorthodox yet – aha! – logical interpretation of that line of inquiry! But no, though it is customary in these lands, there is no law necessitating royal intermarriage in Gondor."
"Then what is it that drives your curiosity so?" asked Truva.
"My answer would be but hypotheses and hunches, and as I cannot yet speak with confidence, I believe it is best not to speak at all. I suggest only this: first, be not overhasty," he said, shooting an implicative look at King Aragorn. "And second, seek out Radagast; I do believe he has a story that might be of interest to you. I myself should have liked to guide you on any subsequent journeys, but alas, I am afraid it is not to be so. Short as our time was together, it was illuminating, even for one such as I – and yet not nearly as illuminating as I had hoped."
With that, the Wizard blinked thoughtfully and pursed his lips, turning introspective for a breath; then he whirled sharply about and exited from his own apartment, leaving Aragorn and Truva alone in his wake.
The King did not move from his chair, merely smoked in silence for some time, his pipe casting the occasional glow upon his shadowy features. Truva leaned against the window frames, determinedly looking anywhere save the King. She noted that there was indeed no trace of simbelmynë – or any flower, for that matter – in Gandalf's quarters.
At long last, Aragorn rose and moved across the room toward Truva. "May I?" he asked, indicating where the Star of the Dúnedain was pinned still. Truva could not feign ignorance, for it was evident that he had glimpsed it earlier at the ceremony.
"Your highness, I—"
"Please," said the King, his brows knit together and eyes glistened with suppressed emotion, "I beg of you, no titles; address me by my name alone. Have we not stood in battle side by side? Did you not pull me from the Snowbourn tributary, then proceeded to save my life at the Battle of Hornburg? I cannot in good faith stand upon ceremony with you."
Truva was taken aback by his earnestness. "As you wish, though the favour of rescue was returned tenfold," she said, unpinning the Star and offering it to him. He took it gently into his fingers, gazing at the silver clasp with an unreadable expression upon his face.
"You wear it even now."
"It has brought me luck," said Truva.
"Is that all it has brought you?"
"And comfort," added Truva hesitantly, her voice low. She was suddenly reminded of the emotional tumult she had felt when kneeling before Théodred's barrow some days before. "I kept it with me always."
Aragorn did not respond immediately, for the Star in his hands wholly consumed his attention. "I hesitated long ere I ever expressed my feelings to you," he said at last. "I feared that, too hard upon the heels of my parting with Lady Arwen, you would see it as an act to replace her, when in truth I do believe my love for you began a great deal earlier than that fateful trip to Imladris.
"I loved Lady Arwen in my youth, it is true – yet like most boyish loves, it fell prey to time and the realities of the world, and likewise her affections for me faded. For her to pass onto the lands of Valinor is the proper conclusion to our relationship.
"I feared, too, that the memory of Théodred would linger ever in your mind, and no man that walked this Earth would ever overcome your love for so great a warrior. This," he said, looking to the Star, "Gives me hope that my fears were unfounded."
His voice softened to a whisper, his eyes downcast. "As for Éowyn, I could never have returned her affections, for she believed me to be lofty and puissant, the very reasons you reject me now," he murmured, words scarcely audible. "She loved me for my high renown and glory; can you not love me in spite of it?"
Truva hesitated then, for if she spoke the words that hung upon her lips, the change they might effect would forever be irreversible.
"I do," she whispered.
Aragorn's head snapped up and he gazed into her eyes. "I'm sorry?"
"I do love you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. I love you in spite of your high renown and glory, and in spite of my lack thereof. I love you in spite of what lies in our past, and in spite of what Gandalf hints lies in our future. I love you, Aragorn!"
He stepped forward, still uncertain as to whether he had heard her properly. Reaching out his hand, Aragorn brushed his fingers along Truva's cheek, tentative, hesitant; yet when he saw in her eyes the flames that burnt there, he pulled her to his chest and pressed his lips to hers, for he was so overcome with emotion that he doubted his ability to express himself through words.
When at last they drew apart, Aragorn rested his head against hers. "Long has it been that I dreamt of hearing you speak such words," he said, pulling her as tight as his strength would allow, "Yet the more time passed, the more I feared it was only that: a dream. I did not believe the day would come when such a moment would be actualised."
"My reasons for spurning your advances were numerous, as you know," said Truva, likewise wrapping her arms about the King, "Yet gradually I realised they were little more than excuses. There was not one reason I could not overlook if, in doing so, I might be the happy recipient of your love, and return such sentiments in kind."
"Your words make me the happiest of Men," said Aragorn, and they stood silent a while, content in each other's arms. Yet even as they lingered blissfully together, their previous conversation with the Wizard returned to mind.
"What of Gandalf's words?" asked Truva. "'Be not overhasty.' I cannot help but think that he was speaking in reference to us."
"Indeed he was," said Aragorn, "For I spoke with him here ere your arrival. He was close as always and gave me no insight as to his reasoning, yet neither did he adamantly object to my affections for you. He merely suggested – rather strongly, I might add – that we postpone any official union until some light was shone onto the mystery of your parentage."
"What a strange character," Truva remarked. "Still, I do not grudge him his advice, for it was sage regardless of extenuating circumstances, and ever is he perceptive."
"We are in agreeance on that matter," said Aragorn. "Come, let us take a walk about the City, for tomorrow Théoden King and Marshal Éofa shall be borne to their final rest, and what lies beyond is a mystery."
And so it was hand in hand that Aragorn and Truva departed Gandalf's quarters and strolled through the white paved streets of Minas Tirith, looking out one last time across the vast landscape beyond; and in that moment they knew what it was to be happy.
Author's note: In the distant past, Quickbeam had enjoyed the company of many rowan trees, Carnimírië one among them. These trees were cut down at the hands of Orcs, prompting Quickbeam's hasty decision to march upon Isengard. He sang a song to Merry and Pippin in the chapter 'Treebeard' of The Two Towers:
O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië!
O rowan fair, upon your hair how white the blossom lay!
O rowan mine, I saw you shine upon a summer's day,
Your rind so bright, your leaves so light, your voice so cool and soft:
Upon your head how golden-red the crown you bore aloft!
O rowan dead, upon your head your hair is dry and grey;
Your crown is spilled, your voice is stilled for ever and a day.
O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië!
In addition, Wikipedia notes: "the Old English name of the rowan is cwic-beám, which survives in the name quickbeam."