Author's recommended listening: Beethoven, String Quartet No. 14
CHAPTER XXXI: THE ENTOMBMENT OF THE KING
The following morning, Truva awoke in the early dawn to a fine mist of rain descending upon the Fields of the Pelennor. Clouds shrouded the sky as if in honour of the fallen King and Marshal as she arose to gaze beyond her windows onto the hazy scene. She lifted her fingers to her lips, where still the sensation of Aragorn's kiss lingered, yet her joy was tempered by sorrow, for at last it had come time to bear her slain brethren home.
All those that were to depart northward dashed about in preparation as the sun lightened the veil of clouds in the east. Truva made directly for the stables, where she strapped her rucksack upon Roheryn; for though she had once believed the horse's companionship an impermanent arrangement, she knew now that she could ride him without hesitation. Aragorn King would ride upon Shadowfax – a joint gift from Gandalf and the Eorlingas upon his coronation – and thus none would think it unusual that the Marshal of his close northern ally be afforded so grand a horse, having lost hers in battle.
Truva and Aragorn's excessive concern for propriety in the eyes of others was born of Gandalf's warning, which had given them pause; it would not do for the King of Gondor to promise himself to an undistinguished and untitled Marshal, only to break that bond due to the circumstances of her birth. Consequently, neither had confided in any other soul regarding their conversation the previous night, and were determined to maintain its secrecy until the mystery of Truva's origin might be resolved.
It was therefore with no more than a quiet glance that they greeted each other before the door of Fen Hollen in the sixth ring of the city, where all the great commanders of Gondor and the Mark were to gather. Truva briefly embraced the waiting Éomer King and Elfhelm Marshal before bowing to Prince Imrahil, and muted words of congratulation were spoken when at last Lord Faramir and Éowyn appeared around the corner and drew near.
King Aragorn then bade the door be opened and stepped upon the stone pathway of Rath Dínen, which stretched along a spur of the mountain from the Hill of the Guard to the Hallows. Aptly was it named, for though the subdued morning routine of the City continued beyond the wall, nothing save an eerie hush could be heard once the company had passed through Fen Hollen. Down, down the Silent Street wound, from the sixth tier to the fourth, each side of the pathway lined with the carven figures of Kings past, until it opened upon the entrance of the Hallows.
Beyond this main gateway spread a vast courtyard, a symbol of the White Tree inlaid among the sea of black flagstones. Directly opposite stood the House of the Kings, with that of the Stewards adjoining it to the north. The delicate arches of these tombs ran the length and width of the courtyard, drawing the eye to a third: that of Gondor's notable dignitaries. It was toward this tomb that King Aragorn led the others, for there both Théoden and Éofa still lay in repose.
He heaved gently at the great oaken door, which gave way to a darkened antechamber. Two guards leapt forward with torches to cast light upon their path, and as the various chambers within were revealed to her, Truva gasped.
"My lord, the tomb of Borondir!" she whispered to Éomer, grasping at his arm.
"In Helm's good name," said Elfhelm Marshal in awe.
"The very man that bound the fates of Gondor and Rohan together," murmured Aragorn as the company paused a moment to consider the stone effigy that lay upon the Northman's tomb.
"Never would I have thought to be summoned by the Red Arrow in all my lifetime, let alone bear witness to the tomb of he who once carried it," said Éomer King, "Yet here I stand, having encountered both, and in such short succession."
"It is indeed extraordinary, but there is yet another unexpected duty we must see to," said Éowyn, drawing her brother's attention back to the task at hand. The company turned then from the tomb of Borondir and sought the final resting place of the Eorlingas warriors.
Truva's breath came short when she laid eyes upon the great catafalque, for a shaft of light streamed down from an opening to illuminate the two figures upon it. She knew not what magic was upon them, yet beneath their shroud each looked as he had in life, healthy and rested. Éomer was the first to step forward, laying a hand upon the stone pedestal.
"You knew him in his youth," he said to Aragorn, though he did not raise his eyes to meet those of the Dúnadan. "Have you no stories of my uncle?"
Aragorn remained silent a moment longer before he spoke. "I recall my first spring in Edoras, when Théoden came upon a jackdaw fallen from its nest," he said, his voice hushed. "The young prince – scarcely out of boyhood – took this fledgling into his keeping, and raised it until it was strong enough to fly, and as such the jackdaw became quite fond of him. It spent all winter pilfering trinkets and toys from the villagers and gifting them to Théoden, who ran about Edoras in returning the items to their rightful owners. Come spring, he sent the jackdaw skyward, with no more than a tear and a wish for it to live freely.
"He was as proud and puissant then as he was in his final hour," Aragorn continued. "I knew even as I looked upon his boyish face that he would grow to become a remarkable king of renown, beloved by his people and just to the last."
Éomer bowed his head at these words, tears coursing down his face. Nor was he alone; many of the others surreptitiously brushed hands across faces, and Éowyn stepped forward to take his hand in her own.
"Enough," said Éomer after a time. "Let us do what must be done."
Together the company lifted Théoden King and Éofa Marshal onto two golden biers, bearing them back through the Hollows and along the Rath Dínen. They exited Fen Hollen onto the streets of the City, where many had gathered to mark the passing of those valorous heroes of the north. Solemn expressions were met with clusters of white viburnum as the crowds yielded to the procession, and the sombre mood that prevailed was stark in contrast to the atmosphere that had reigned the previous evening, following the wedding.
The procession swept back and forth along the tiers of the city, each lined with innumerable mourners, until at last they came to the main gates. There Lord Imrahil and his daughter awaited them, for it was the Prince of Dol Amroth who would guard Minas Tirith and the surrounding lands during the king's absence. Though it was Faramir – as Steward of Gondor – to whom this task would typically fall, Aragorn had granted him temporary reprieve from his duties, so that he might greet the people of Rohan as Éowyn's husband.
"Hail the victorious dead!" cried Imrahil, raising his sword in salute. "May your journey be swift and safe, my lords and lady, and may you lay these noble warriors to rest with honour and dignity."
Lothíriel stepped forth then, and though Truva could not guess as to how the maiden had come by it, laid a sprig of simbelmynë upon the chest of Théoden King. "May all the generations forthwith look upon these great men as unrivalled beacons of hope and valour, and allow the recollection of their righteousness to guide them when faced with uncertainty."
The procession awaited Éomer King's response, yet he said nothing. All that could be heard was a gentle sob as he guided the biers out onto the Pelennor Fields, where stood the main company about a great wain. As the pallbearers placed the King and Éofa upon its bed, those who would accompany them on their final journey bent their heads out of respect. Gandalf looked on, accompanied by Legolas and Gimli, as well as the Princes of Imladris, who raised their fair voices in a song of lament.
Once the fallen were laid within, the Holbytla Meriadoc – being the King's esquire – was aided into the bed of the wain, so that he might sit beside his sovereign and Marshal, and take their swords into his keeping. Beside the wain and their seated companion, the other Halflings sat on ponies provided by Aragorn.
With one last swipe of the back of his hand against his cheek, Éomer King strode toward Firefoot, who awaited him at the head of the column beside Shadowfax. Roheryn was there, too, and Elfhelm Marshal's mount, having been brought down from the stables by their attentive Gondorian stableboys. The two kings of the southern realms were swift in taking their position at the forefront of the company, followed by Truva and Elfhelm, who rode amidst the King's Riders.
One standard bearer raised aloft the proud banner of the Mark, and as the lush field of green flapped upon the wind, the white horse that galloped there appeared more than ever to be Snowmane. Truva strove to contain her emotions as a single, solemn trumpet sounded from the City walls, yet it was of no use, for tears coursed down her face unbidden. She was not alone, however, for nary a dry eye could be seen when the company set out at great last across the still-scorched earth of the Pelennor. Even as they passed through the Rammas Echor and the towering white walls of Minas Tirith faded from view, the stifled sniffs of the Riders could yet be heard.
If Truva had believed their pace to be leisurely on their journey toward the City, it proved doubly so upon return. Several days passed ere the company arrived before the Grey Wood under Amon Dîn, where the Eorlingas had first come upon the Drúedain. A halt was called, and the Riders quickly set about pitching camp.
Once Roheryn was picketed, Truva wove through the masses reporting for watch or preparing cooking fires, in search of a creek she had spotted the tail end of earlier. She had procured an elaborate fishing rod whilst in Minas Tirith, and was determined to make good use of it.
She had not gone far before the gentle trickle of water could be heard, soon followed by the faint glimmer of water in what little moonlight trickled through the trees' canopy. Truva sat upon the bank and cast her line into the stream; the quietude was a welcome alternative to the bustle of camp, and with any luck she would be able to dine on freshly roasted fish before taking the late-night watch – for even as Marshal, Truva would not relegate such unpleasant tasks to recruits alone.
Her thoughts drifted into a pleasant reverie of the sumptuous meals and plush bed that awaited her back in Edoras, and soon several snared trout were piled beside her. The hush around her had gradually grown deeper, and though she had initially attributed it to the Riders settling into their tasks, it had since taken on an unsettling tone. Truva looked cautiously about as she unhooked a fish from her line and made as if to cast it once more.
In that very moment, she glanced toward the opposite bank of the creek. Perhaps she had imagined it, but there between the trunks of pine Truva was certain she had glimpsed the flicker of movement, the gleam of eyes. She froze, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, listening for any hint of a visitor.
"Hello?" she whispered into the silence, yet no sooner had the word left her lips than the sound of light footsteps approaching from the direction of camp gave reason as to the sudden disappearance.
In that very same moment, Aragorn appeared. "Elfhelm said he had noted you wandering off toward the creek, and was wondering whether you had found any success," he said. "It seems rumours of fish have piqued the troops' appetite."
"It is no more than a moderate catch," replied Truva, still staring across the creek, "Yet I will share what I can." She gave one final glance back toward the deserted bank with a shake of her head. She had scarcely begun to make her way through the trees before Aragorn held out a hand to stop her, however.
"Wait! This was not here when I came this way," he said. He bent to retrieve a large bundle, wrapped adeptly in leaves. It gave off a faint smell of fresh fish.
"The Drúedain," said Truva. "This is precisely where we encountered them before, I suspect I saw one even now, flitting through the woodlands."
"As King of Gondor, I would be hard pressed to deem them allies, yet enemies they most certainly are not," said Aragorn, examining the bundle. "They are a people after their own kind, and upon hearing of the service they rendered unto the Rohirrim in your race to aid Minas Tirith, I must find a way to mark my gratitude for their succour."
"It seems they want for little," said Truva.
"Even so, such deeds must not go unmarked," said Aragorn, reaching out to clasp her hand in his own. Truva's heart leapt at this unexpected display of intimacy, though after a moment of shock allowed her fingers to interweave with Aragorn's as they returned to camp. Even so, they were quick to separate once they drew near the others, and delivered to the chefs the Druedain's gift.
The following morning, the company amassed just beyond the edge of the Grey Forest, though Aragorn bade them pause a moment. He held his hand aloft as he called out toward the seemingly uninhabited woodland:
"Behold, the King Elessar is come, and will soon be gone!" he cried, and though no response came, he continued, "The Forest of Drúadan he gives to Ghân-buri-Ghân and to his folk, to be their own for ever, and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!"
Much to the company's surprise, a single drum strike tolled, then the echos died away and all fell silent. Whether Aragorn's actions were magnanimous or merely just Truva did not feel at liberty to judge, though not one among the Eorlingas' number disapproved of the King's decision; it was no more than what had long been due the Drúedain.
They set out once more, and it was upon the fifteenth day Truva at last spied the freshly constructed defences of Edoras that emerged from rolling, grassy hills. The gates of the city were thrown wide at the arrival of such a distinguished company, and from the city flowed a great mass of well-wishers; for not a single individual in all of the Mark that was untouched by the passing of their King, or intrigued by the peculiar figures that came from far-flung lands.
The company did not enter the city, however, and stopped just before the gates. Éomer dismounted, Truva and the others following suit, and together they lifted the two golden biers from their wain and bore them to the east side of the Barrowfield. There, an eighth house of stone had been constructed along the Second Line during the time of their absence, with a smaller one in the rear. It was within these dark houses of stone that they laid Théoden King and Éofa Marshal, and Meriadoc placed their swords upon their chests.
When at last his uncle and brother in arms were laid to rest, Éomer gazed upon each barrow a great while, as all stood about in silence with heads bowed. When it seemed he could delay no longer, he took two stones into his hands and laid one before the entrance to each tomb, as did Éowyn, and the Riders in turn placed their mark of remembrance for the fallen.
The Eorlingas king then took to Firefoot once more, and when the barrow was fully covered with earth and grass, he led the Riders as they spurred their mounts to terrifying speeds and raced around the grave of Théoden King. In his memory, and in that of his Marshal, and all those who had fallen in the terrible battles, the Eorlingas raised their voices in song:
Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising,
he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended;
over death, over dread, over doom lifted
out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.
By some compulsion, Truva raised the Horn of the House of Éofor to her lips, and when she blew, it was seemingly sounded as if by Helm himself. Many of the Riders joined in, and she heard the horns of other lands, of Minas Tirith and Ithilien. Gradually the Riders' pace began to slow, some even to a halt to pay their final respects to their King and Marshal, yet after a single suspenseful breath Éomer King turned and led the company up the hill toward Meduseld.
Truva could scarcely see for a sudden rush of tears, and so she gave Roheryn full rein as he complacently followed the others. Before the foot of the stairs the Riders dismounted, and with a start Truva noted that Gríma was there to tend their mounts.
She approached him cautiously, hesitant to speak as she passed Roheryn's reins to him. "I see great faith has been bestowed upon you now, if you are trusted with the Eorlingas' inestimable companions."
"I was told my promotion from servant to groom was due in great part to words you spoke on my behalf," Gríma said with a bow. "My indebtedness to you only ever increases."
"Let us speak not of debts," said Truva, "For that which has occurred between us is far too complex for such calculations."
They lapsed into silence a moment, until a glistening of tears welled in Gríma's eyes. "I cannot help but feel—" he began, though he was unable to continue. Truva lay a soothing hand upon his shoulder.
"No man lives a life entirely devoid of actions worthy of reproach," she said. "Darkness beyond our comprehension sought to have its effect upon us, and we were but playthings scattered across its vast board; Théoden's death – and that of the others – can be attributed to naught else."
Gríma shook his head in disagreeance, yet he wiped his eyes and it appeared that he had found some solace in her words.
Truva joined the other Riders then, greeting the approaching Erkenbrand Marshal with a bow as they entered Meduseld together. The hall was adorned as it had been for Théodred's wake, for ere the Eorlingas' departure from Mundburg messengers had ridden forth with instructions to prepare for the arrival of the eminent deceased. Simbelmynë woven into braids framed the doors and black fabric was draped along the walls; and upon the dais stood a dignified marble carving of Snowmane, which Edoras' most renowned stoneworker had begun long before Théoden King met his demise. At the feet of the statue were scattered the ubiquitous white blossoms.
Éomer and Éowyn were first to kneel before the carving, yet moments stretched into uneasy minutes until Éowyn arose at last, and with hands upon Éomer's shaking shoulders drew him also to his feet. As they moved off, clutched in each other's arms, King Aragorn and his Commanders approached to honour Théoden King, the Riders following two by two. Each laid a hand upon the chill marble before drifting off and taking seats at the giant tables arranged about the hall.
When it came Truva's turn, she hesitated but a moment before lifting the Horn of the House of Éofor from her shoulder and laying it gently upon Snowmane's back, for she knew Théoden King would not have Éofa overlooked. She then bent her head and knees, yet just as it had at Théodred's funeral, a calm serenity passed through her even as she laid her fingertips upon the simbelmynë that littered the floor.
Despite this, melancholy still gripped Truva's heart as she approached the empty table that had once seated so many; gone forever were Théodred and Éofa, no more was Gríma to sit upon those benches. Éomer and Éowyn now assumed duties beyond her. As she took her place near the wall, Truva wondered at the impermanence and temporality of it all; how quickly had her life in the Hidlands been altered, yet so quickly had such joy been snatched away.
Not even the reassuring company of Théoden King's most beloved deerhound could alleviate Truva's grief. The memory of his death upon the Pelennor returned forcefully to her mind, for though she had witnessed so much death in the interim, nothing could ease the pain of losing someone so true and dear. "I will forever consider you a daughter," the King had spoken to her at Théodred's wake, and yet said daughter sat at the wake of that very same father, feeling wholly lost.
In that moment, Aragorn sat beside Truva. He did not have to scrutinise her face to see the grief that was apparent there, and without a word he took her hand in his, passing strength on to her through a tender touch. "With each passing a new bridge is built," he murmured, "And though someday those whom we love may be gone, our hearts will only ever grow from the love we give and gain."
Tears rose once more in Truva's eyes again, and as they fell he lifted his hand to brush them gently away. Still, he did not demand that she stop, for the tears were a symbol of passion, love, and respect; a sign of strength, rather than weakness.
And then from the crowd appeared Héodis, followed closely by Éomód and a young boy, nearly unrecognisable – surely not Fulmod! For he had grown so, and scarcely appeared a child! Suddenly Truva's heart swelled, for it was that instant in which she recalled the meaning behind her friends' sacrifices, and the darkness she had endured, for there before her very eyes stood the future of the Mark.
With tears still wet upon her cheeks, Truva leapt to her feet and dashed across the hall to embrace her friends.
"Truva!" cried Héodis, racing to meet her halfway.
"She has lectured me incessantly ever since my return, for having allowed you to hare off on another adventure," laughed Éomód as he embraced Truva in turn. "As if I had a choice!"
"I do not think I shall leave your company for a very, very long time," said Truva as she led her friends back toward the table, arm in arm. Once all guests had been seated, many of King Aragorn's company joining him, the feast was begun. A boisterous mood soon overtook the hall, for Théoden King had lived a full life, and his death had been no less honourable than that of his predecessors. The Holbytla Meriadoc proved particularly keen to strike up ditties in honour of the King and, not to be outdone, Elladan and Elrohir awed the Eorlingas with a moving ballad each.
Before long, Éomer and Éowyn appeared upon the dais, and thunderous cheers rose up when their presence was noted. Éowyn stepped forth first, bearing cups filled with wine and a black shroud, and bade the loremaster recite the names of Théoden's forefathers. As the loremaster spoke, Éomer took the shroud and cast it over the figure of Snowmane. Once the fabric had settled, he placed a spray of simbelmynë upon the back of the statue, beside the Horn of Éofor.
Then, upon hearing his father's name pronounced by the loremaster, Éomer King raised the cup that Éowyn passed to him. Following in kind, the Eorlingas and guests of the Mark stood and cried as one, "Hail, Théoden, King of the Mark!" and drank.
Éomer King bade them pause yet a moment before returning to their feast, saying, "This is the wake of Théoden the King; but I will speak of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father to Éowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, that Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, asked that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she granted it full willing, and they were married in the garden of Mundburg some three weeks agone.
"Tonight, we celebrate not only the past of Théoden King, but also the future of his sister-daughter and her husband! To Éowyn and Faramir!" he called, raising his glass in a second toast.
"To Éowyn and Faramir!" returned the cry, and the exuberant spirit of the hall redoubled, for the guests' cause for celebration had also increased. It was thus a great while longer that the feast continued, and though some retired to their homes as the night deepened beyond the windows of Meduseld, many continued to drink and carouse even when the tinges of dawn dappled across the eastern sky.
Gandalf arose at long last, and with a gentle nod of his head to Éomer King, said, "I do believe it is time for those who will travel on to take leave of our most generous host. Thanks be to you, for we have eaten well and honoured Théoden King and his Marshal with heartfelt gratitude, though even if such grand figures were to linger eternally in the memory of Men, still it would be insufficient of their due."
"Will you not rest a day more?" asked Éomer King. "You have spent all night in our company, and already travelled a great distance from Mundburg."
"Ever are a Wizard's tasks incomplete," said Gandalf, "I must see that the Hobbits are returned to their home with all haste, and Aragorn has his own kingdom to see to."
"Very well, if that is your will; I have better sense than to argue with a Wizard," said Éomer, and as an atmosphere of finality settled over the feast, the crowd drifted from the hall to the gates of Edoras, so that they might bid their final goodbyes to the guests of the Mark.
Amidst the chaos, Truva extended polite farewells to the Elves and Gimli, though she found her words utterly lacking when attempting to thank the Holbytlas for their unparalleled bravery. Gandalf merely gave her a knowing look, a wink, and a pat on the arm; which was perhaps the most communicative exchange she had ever shared with him.
Last of all, Truva stood before Aragorn. Shielded from prying eyes by Shadowfax's vast bulk, they clasped hands and brought their heads close. "Must you go so soon?" she asked softly.
"The sooner my departure, the swifter my return," he said with a wry smile. He swept his hands through Truva's hair, yet even as he laid a hand upon her cheek and brought his lips nearer to hers, Gandalf abruptly emerged from behind Shadowfax.
"Come, it is time," said the Wizard. With a wistful glance toward Truva, Aragorn mounted and turned to go. Side by side with Gandalf, he led the company through the gates of Edoras and onward along the Great Road, joined by his numerous companions, many of whom would never be seen in the Mark again. Truva lingered until the last vestiges of the riders disappeared amidst the rolling golden waves of tall grass, ere she returned up the hill to Meduseld and the stables.
With a heavy heart, Truva turned into the stall most familiar to her, where Roheryn had been quartered. Bron's old, secondary tack still hung upon the wall, yet some part of Roheryn seemed to sense Truva's pain, for he nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. With tears once more blurring her vision, Truva arranged her new companion's tack beside that of Bron. Already Roheryn had been thoroughly groomed, and so Truva contented herself to braid his mane and tail, feeding him fruits and vegetables she had stowed in her pockets during the feast all the while.
Once each plait was secured with a ribbon, Truva could tarry no more; she checked thrice to ensure Roheryn was provided with the finest of hay before giving him a final pat and collecting her rucksack. Old memories surged back as she exited the stable and crossed the training compound, for it had not been so long ago that she had stood in formation among the other recruits, naïve and uncut by the terrors of war, Théodred and Éofa bold at their helm. Though Truva knew her wounds would mend, she knew also she would never be quite the same, for no cut ever healed without a scar.
She opened the door to her quarters, met only by silence and the smell of a musty, cloistered room. Strange as it was, Truva inhaled the earthy scent and said, "So this is what it is to be home."
THE END
First, thank you to each and every reader for accompanying me to the very end of this epic adventure! Now that we have come to its conclusion, I'd love to know your thoughts and feelings about this work; who was your favorite character? What was your favorite chapter or moment? When did you feel the strongest emotions? (I know I ought not to choose favorites, yet the scene when Truva takes off her shoes in Chapter 14 ("Northward Bound") will forever be the most endearing to me!)
You may have noticed there was no overt coronation of Éomer King in the final chapters; this is because I have Plans. As I write the sequel, in which I will explore post canon events through the lens of Truva's search for her parentage (and at time of publishing sits at 50k, most likely to be titled Marshal of the Mark), I will be releasing a series of related works:
First, I intend to upload a deleted scene that was slated to occur between chapters 4 ("Training") and 5 ("The Picnic"). I initially removed it in order to advance the timeline and integrate into the Two Towers events faster, but it was still an enjoyable chapter and I wanted to share anyway! It is already written in full.
Second, I am currently in the process of writing a brief story (approximately five chapters) concerning Chaya and Halbarad's storyline, contemporaneous with the events of The Lady of the Rohirrim. The story is a gift for a friend, and is about halfway complete.
Last, I will include a somewhat fluffy one-shot depicting Éomer King's coronation, which will be its own separate event, and help set the stage for the sequel. This I have not begun to write, but it is already outlined quite clearly in my mind.
If you would like to be notified of these updates, you can follow either this story or my author's page, or find me on AO3, where I have created The Hidland Chronicles series. I have also uploaded some incredible fan art, as well as a tongue-in-cheek modern coffee shop AU one-shot!
Thank you all once again for reading, and I hope what I have planned will be as enjoyable as The Lady of the Rohirrim!