Recommended listening: Josef Suk, Scherzo Fantastique

CHAPTER VIII: RADAGAST THE BROWN

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting glimmering streaks across the Bay of Belfalas and a warm glow upon the walls of Truva's private chambers. She paced restlessly about the room, chafing at its confines – yet she found the prospect of a feast in the citadel's decadent hall even less appealing than lingering in the quietude, and so he made no haste in washing up. When she could delay no longer, Truva emerged into the hall and knocked on Éomer King's door to see whether he had not yet descended.

She was entirely unprepared for the grand figure that greeted her. 'Milord, your tunic appears exceptionally long,' she remarked.

'So I thought,' said the King, smoothing his hands over the purple silk which fell well past his knees, golden embroidery glistening at the hems. 'It was a gift from Lord Imrahil, yet I agree it does not suit me. I will change at once.' He turned back into his room, but Truva stopped him.

'No, milord, you look terrifically handsome,' she said. 'I fear for the ladies' hearts, for certainly you shall not leave Dol Amroth without shattering a few.'

'There is one to whom I have no intention of doing any such thing,' the King murmured to himself, though Truva feigned not to hear as they made their way along the corridors to the dining hall.

The atmosphere was boisterous, for already the Eorlingas and northern Gondorians were deep in conversation with their Swan Knight counterparts, and libations poured freely. Prince Imrahil sat at the head table, Aragorn King to his immediate left and his sons Elphir and Erchirion to his right. Between them was the ever-charming Lothíriel, who sent an ethereal smile Truva's way – or so Truva thought; a quick glance at the face of Éomer King and the joy that blossomed there made her question whether it had not instead been intended for him. Her suspicions as to why the King had been so preoccupied with his dress, on the other hand, were confirmed.

Upon spying the new arrivals, Imrahil leapt to his feet and guided Éomer to a veritable throne beside his own. 'A noble warrior of such great renown must sit in a place of honour, to be shared with none save King Aragorn!' he cried. But in that very same moment, Lady Lothíriel beckoned to Truva.

'Sit with us, Marshal,' she said, her smile now warm and clearly given to Truva alone. 'We have missed you terribly.'

'And it is high time you met our brother, Amrothos,' said Erchirion. He indicated the young man beside him, who so strikingly resembled the others, with hair more black than the darkest Mearas of the Mark – though his stature was slight, and his demeanour more distant than that of his father or siblings.

Amrothos stood and held out Truva's chair for her, which she took cautiously, unaccustomed to such grand gestures. The bombardment of questions began even before she was settled.

'King Éomer and the other Riders have already told us a great deal about what transpired at Pelargir,' said Erchirion. 'But what of your trials? And the resettlement of the Eastfold? Aldburg was near-derelict when we passed through last autumn.'

'What of the tapestry?' pressed Lothíriel. 'Was it hung, or was it soon forgotten?'

'I can assure you the tapestry hangs in a place of great honour, at the very head of Meduseld,' Truva reassured the princess. As platters began to stream from the kitchen, Truva launched into tales of recent days – but only the most lighthearted ones, avoiding any topics too distressing for such a joyous occasion as a feast.

Yet as she spoke, Lothíriel's attention continually wandered to the head table, and Erchirion was drawn into conversation with his elder brother Elphir. Amrothos, on the contrary, seemed entirely absorbed in his own meal, and disinclined to put any questions to Truva. Relieved of the task of trying to fabricate light where there was little to be found, she allowed her narration to peter out, and humbly accepted the chalice of wine the youngest son of Imrahil offered.

'I thank you for the kind hospitality of you and your family,' she said.

'Think nothing of it,' Amrothos replied, taking his own cup in his hands and draining it with alarming alacrity. 'We would not stand to be considered penurious hosts – not to such exemplary figures! I have heard many a story of your feats of valour upon the Pelennor Fields and before Morannon, though they are little more than what is expected of our warriors.'

'Indeed,' said Truva, a thin smile pulling at the corner of her lips. 'I did but my duty—'

'I myself was unable to accompany the Swan Knights on their campaign,' said Amrothos, interrupting as a serving boy presented him several platters laden with extravagant delicacies. He transferred a heaping amount onto his plate, but gave no indication of sharing any with his guest – indeed, he left none of the roast quail at all. 'I was tasked with protecting the fortress of Dol Amroth.'

'And you executed your duty well,' Truva acknowledged. 'Your service must have rendered a great relief to your father. The Eorlingas were not so fortunate as to leave such a strong guard behind; even the King's daughter rode out amongst our number.'

'Yes, the tale of Éowyn and the Wraith reached our shores, as well,' Amrothos tsked. 'Silly little thing, abandoning her people and risking her life unnecessarily for something so intangible as valour.' Amrothos poured himself another glass of wine.

Truva bristled. 'Intangible though valour may be, does it not have the potential to outlast our physical form?' she asked. Yet in determining he had no further interest in the Marshal, Amrothos turned to his siblings and began pontificating upon the significance of protecting one's homeland and castle.

'Do not mind him,' said a soft, raspy voice at Truva's other side, where sat a weathered old man dressed in brown robes, intently pulling apart a cluster of grapes. He took a moment to peer at her with one dark, wrinkled eye, before turning his scrutiny upon Amrothos. 'He knows not what it is to sacrifice for a cause greater than oneself. 'Tis a relief such a cumberground is the Prince's youngest son – though perhaps that relief is tempered by the fact he is not entirely uncunning.'

'I do apologise, but am I mistaken in thinking we have not been formally introduced?'

Both of the man's eyes were now trained upon Truva. 'You perhaps do not know me, but I most certainly know you.'

'Then my contrition is even greater for such an oversight,' said Truva.

'There is no need for such remorse, my dear, for it is true we have never met,' he said. Truva's mind was spun about by the old man's words, though even as she studied his face for some hint, a slight smile played across his thin lips. 'I have been expecting you, ever since Gandalf spoke to me of your little quest.'

'You are Radagast the Brown!' Truva exclaimed with a sudden gasp of recognition.

'The very same.' In the Wizard's eyes twinkled the very stars that she had seen grace Gandalf's.

'But how came you to this place?' she asked. 'I was led to believe I would find you in the north – the Wood of Greenleaves, perhaps, or nearabouts the Shire, keeping watch over those Greyhame is most fond of.'

'And so I was, so I was,' said Radagast. 'For a time. Yet upon receiving a rather curious request from Prince Imrahil, I found myself making my way southward – distasteful though I find travel to be – and wound up here, before the mild shores of Belfalas.'

'What task was it that brought you here?'

Radagast's smile grew deeper as he peered at her. 'Oliphaunts!' he said with a wink, eliciting a second gasp from Truva.

'Oliphaunts?' she whispered. 'I watched them march towards the lands of Ithilien myself, yet I had heard naught of them since. Do they thrive here?'

'Would you care to see for yourself?'

'Very much so!'

'Then I shall show you upon the morn, for I am tired and wish to rest,' said the Wizard. 'And a crowded hall is less than ideal to discuss the matters with which Gandalf concerned himself.'

Before Truva could so much as question Radagast about that very topic, he had risen and made off towards the entrance of the hall, greeting the fine lords at the head of the table with a casual, passing wave. Suddenly deprived of the Wizard's company, Truva bent over her food, careful to evade the attention of Amrothos – though this had the undesirable effect of preventing her from speaking with the other Dol Amrothinian siblings, or gazing upon the head table, which sat along the same line of sight. Isolated and uncomfortable, it was with great relief that Truva escaped to her chambers the earliest moment her departure could not possibly be deemed rude.

Even as she strode along the torchlit hallways – for evening had settled in full over the city – Truva was struck by an urge to walk the citadel battlements and look out upon the waters of the Bay. Staircase by staircase she climbed until there were none left to climb, and all that stood between her and the outdoors was a heavy door. Throwing her shoulder against its oaken planks, the eastern battlements were revealed beyond: a wide stone walkway cluttered with the machines of war – silent now, but ever a remnant of all that had come to pass.

Truva skirted a series of barbettes and passed through the southeast corner bartizan, greeting the guard as she did, before emerging onto the seaward wall. But the tranquillity she sought was soon disturbed; Truva had not gone more than a few strides before she realised she was not alone. There, leaning casually upon the parapet, was Legolas, his lithe form relaxed yet giving every indication of repressed activity.

Truva approached with hesitation and rested her forearms against the rough cut of the wall. Looking out across the vast expanse, she allowed the waves' soft soliloquy to fill the silence between them for a time, before speaking at last.

'I ought to thank you for saving me.'

'There is little need,' said the Elf with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Such are things in battle; I am certain you would not hesitate to lend me succour, should occasion require it.'

'I very much doubt you would ever find yourself in such grave danger, that I might be of aid,' Truva scoffed. Much to her surprise, Legolas laughed with her – a light, mannerly laugh, to be sure, but a laugh nevertheless.

Emboldened by his geniality, Truva asked, 'What is it that brought you here this evening? Why do you not linger at the feast with the others?'

Legolas turned his piercing grey eyes upon her, studying every feature of her face. Truva wondered whether she had not overstepped her bounds after all; with the settlement of Gimli and his people in Glǽmscrafu, she had grown mildly more familiar with the Dwarf, but Legolas' aloof manner seemed insurmountable as ever. She shied away from his scrutiny, and was only free of its palpable intensity once Legolas turned his gaze from her into the winds off the coast.

'Too long has it been since last I saw the sea,' he said. 'Even to a Sindarin Elf such as myself – though I know not whether you have any familiarity with the distinction – it calls, whispering the sweet music of Ulmo. Oh, how I long to follow it!'

Truva strained her ears against the hiss of waves breaking against the sandy beach, and yet she heard no hint of music. 'Then why do you not follow it, if that is what you wish?'

'No, not yet,' said Legolas wistfully. 'Not yet.'

Then he lifted up his voice in song – though whether it was lament or praise, or even lullaby, Truva could not be sure, for he sang in a language of the Elves. The music was simultaneously soothing yet melancholic, and when Legolas' voice faded into the wind, Truva stood for a long while as if transfixed, staring out over the black sea. When her senses crept back, she bade the unforthcoming Elf goodnight and returned to her chambers.

But no sooner had she closed her eyes than the sun was rising and she was striding purposefully through the hallways once more.

Radagast had given no indication of where or when they were to meet – yet knowing the peculiarities of Wizards, Truva presumed their paths would align by one way or another. In this thinking she was not mistaken, for immediately upon entering the stables, she discovered the Wizard standing just beyond Roheryn's stall, waving a fresh carrot in the direction of the horse's muzzle.

'He is somewhat cantankerous in the mornings,' she warned.

'So I've heard,' remarked the Wizard.

Before Truva could react, Roheryn reached out like lightning and snapped the carrot in half, the whiskers of his nose twitching contentedly. Truva watched curiously as Radagast ruffled the horse's forelock; she had heard the Brown Wizard was particularly adept with all manner of animals, but the rapidity with which he had befriended the standoffish Roheryn was remarkable.

'Come,' said Radagast, breaking her daze. 'We have all day, and yet I should still like to make an early start of it!'

He lifted an immense woven bag and slung it over his shoulder before crossing the stables to a stall on the opposite side. Truva had scarcely realised what was happening by the time he led a blue roan out into the early morning sunlight. She rushed to tack up and race after the Wizard, who was already halfway to the courtyard gates by the time she emerged from the stables.

'I must speak with Éomer King and tell him of our departure,' Truva protested when at last she had caught up. 'And I do not know our destination, or how long we intend to be away, or what our purpose is.'

'I have spoken with the King already,' said Radagast, failing to answer her implied questions as he gave a congenial wave to the citadel guards. Truva shook her head at how his unforthcoming nature was so very like that of Gandalf.

'Wizard, Marshal,' the guards nodded as they opened the gates for the strange duo.

In spite of the early hour, the market along the main thoroughfare was already bustling. Carts in a kaleidoscope of colours were crammed side by side, their vendors calling out in a clamour of voices all manner of items for sale: fish, earthenware, medicinal herbs, sheep shears – the citizens of Dol Amroth wanted for naught. Any additional space not occupied by stalls was congested by shoppers, many of whom gazed up in astoundment at the unfamiliar visitors – though they were quick to wave or say hello then go about their business.

At last, Radagast and Truva came upon the city gates, which had been thrown open to the day's travellers. Gone were the days when fear guided the guards' actions, and free had the Dol Amrothinians' travel become. Truva followed the Wizard through the gates, though he did not turn towards the harbour by which the Alcarindur's crew had arrived, instead following a road that continued straight along the peninsula.

A great many houses were clustered beyond the gates – some elegant stone structures while others were of rougher construction, scarcely more substantial than the huts of the Hidlands. Clearly the city had outgrown its walls many generations ago. It was thus quite some time before the haphazard maze of dwellings gave way to open fields of wheat and barley, and row upon row of short, bushy trees.

'Olives,' explained the Wizard, noting Truva's perplexed expression. 'Perhaps you were too preoccupied with Amrothos' irreverent behaviour to notice them on the table last night.'

'I should have liked to try such a delicacy,' Truva replied. Radagast merely harrumphed and spurred his horse on ever so slightly.

Come midmorning, the two riders arrived at Swan's Neck, a narrow bridge of land connecting the peninsula to the mainland of Belfalas. Upon the western reaches nearest the city stood a tiny garrison with a single guard tower, the colours of its standard fluttering as the waves of the sea did. A horn sounded when Truva and Radagast approached, and a trio of mail-clad soldiers tumbled from the gate; for though the movement of Dol Amrothinians had become freer, still the Sutherlands' shadow loomed threateningly.

One soldier casually sauntered up to Radagast. 'Several days it's been since last you came this way, Wizard!' he exclaimed. 'Did you enjoy your rest in the city?'

'It was very pleasant, thank you,' Radagast replied. 'And I have brought you a little something.' He reached into the bag at his waist and withdrew an immense bundle.

'It is not simply treats for our horses and hounds and none for us, as it was the last time, and the time before that, is it?' the soldier accused.

'And kittens,' said Radagast. 'Soon you shall have kittens. But no, there are some delicacies I believe you, too, shall enjoy.'

'Very much obliged!' said the soldier, retreating with his comrades. 'See you upon your return, then, I suppose.'

'I do not think I shall be long.'

And with that, Radagast took off across the spit of land. Once beyond the peninsula, he and Truva cut inland rather than following the coast, making for a range of hills that lay towards the east: those of Dor-en-Ernil. A vast patchwork of farms spread clear to the sea, and as far northward as the eye could see, punctuated by small copses of oak and sage. As the morning dragged on into afternoon, however, the landscape became scarred by wide swaths of charred vegetation.

'The fighting here must have been fierce,' Truva remarked, noting two hilltops swallowed by a single tongue of black.

'The north bore the brunt of Sauron's fury, yet these lands did not go untouched,' Radagast agreed. 'So many innocent lives lost – not only of Men, but also of those often valued less…' He trailed off, a hint of regret tinged with anger in his voice.

When they lapsed back into silence, Truva came to the realisation that Radagast had no intention of explaining Gandalf's mysterious hints without prompting. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to broach the subject.

'Why is it that Gandalf set me upon a path to seek you out? What information have you that he did not?'

'He told me you would be very hasty,' said Radagast with a soft laugh. 'But your questions must wait; we have arrived.'

Some distance ahead, a small array of provisional housing sprang up between sparse vegetation: hastily constructed shelters and storage structures that bent their leaning frames against the wind off the sea. As the two riders came amongst the buildings, a half dozen barns reared up so high the entire pathway was cast in shadow.

A multitude of figures bustled about, all of whom paused to greet the Wizard as he and Truva passed.

'Hullo, Radagast!' called one, a rather dishevelled man who sat in the doorway of one barn, hands continuing to weave rope even as he spoke. 'Enjoy the feast, did you?'

'Only as much as was required, my dear Ennebyn,' quipped Radagast in response. 'How goes the work?'

'Today's been quite the busy day,' said the man called Ennebyn. 'Most all the ladies roused themselves to give us a hand this 'morn; must be somethin' in the weather – never seen quite like it!'

'Mayhap, mayhap,' Radagast mused as he led Truva to one building that dwarfed all the others. It resembled the stables of Edoras, only tenfold larger. The Wizard dismounted in front of the entrance and hitched his horse to a post there, yet even as he did, a trumpeting sound could be heard from within.

'Oh aye, Bertha, never you fret – I'm a'comin',' Radagast chuckled. Truva scrambled down from Roheryn as he pushed the immense barn doors aside.

The sight that greeted her caused Truva to stop in her tracks. In the space that could easily house an entire éored of Mearas stood fewer than a dozen stalls, dirt floors neatly swept and vegetation heaped in the rear. Only two stalls were occupied, yet the Oliphaunts within rose up as high as the defensive wall of Minas Tirith, great ears flapping in delight as Radagast came into sight through the barn doors. Their braying was deafening, and they danced eagerly in their stalls.

'This is Alfred,' said Radagast to Truva as he extended a hand towards the first Oliphaunt. The creature lifted its trunk to gently caress his palm. 'She was named before we realised she was – in actuality – not a he. Indeed, each of the Oliphaunts rescued from the Pelennor is female, for it is thus that they naturally form herds in the lands of Harad. I suspect the cows are also a fair deal more trainable than the bulls, which is why they were put to use as animals of war.'

''Tis a good name, as it is: Alfred,' Truva remarked. 'Sounds nearly Eorling.'

'Ah yes, well, that is due to the Oliphaunts' names having come under advisement from one Peregrin Took and one Meriadoc Brandybuck – for the Hobbits' languages of ages past are tightly connected to that of the Rohirrim, coming as both peoples did from the Vales of the Anduin.'

Radagast then moved towards the rear of the stables, where a second Oliphaunt struggled to kneel on the ground, her joints bloated with arthritis. Age was carved into every fold of her rough skin, and her ears drooped heavily forward, yet life seemed to resurge within her when the Wizard leaned his entire weight across the base of her trunk. He scarcely covered a quarter of its circumference.

'Without Bertha, it is impossible to say what might have become of the Oliphaunts,' he said. 'It was her trust in the Gondorian soldiers that encouraged the others to follow suit, and thus we were able to transport southward all that remained of the herd.'

'You can speak with the beasts?' Truva asked.

'Not speak, insomuch.' Radagast rubbed Bertha's trunk affectionately. 'Every creature upon this Earth is capable of communicating, though some do it in such a way that is more comprehensible to us than others, and it varies on an individual basis. Do you not recall the way in which Bron understood each whim of your heart – often before you yourself were aware?'

'I suppose so,' said Truva. She did not ask how the Wizard knew of her relationship with Bron, and was quite determined to focus on the spectacle in front of her rather than the sorrow that lurked within. She eyed the Oliphaunt with trepidation; standing immediately before it, the creature that had appeared vast even from a distance now seemed a veritable behemoth.

'Come, do not be afraid,' said Radagast, beckoning her closer. 'Reach out your hand, steady… No need for a soft touch, they are sturdy beasts…'

Truva's palm inched closer to the thick, grey hide, yet no sooner had her fingertips brushed Bertha's forehead than the Oliphaunt whipped her trunk around and drenched Truva with a shower of water. Radagast burst into laughter, and even Bertha's eyes seemed to crinkle.

'Ah, she does not disapprove of you!' exclaimed the Wizard, wiping tears from his eyes.

'This is a sign of affection?' asked Truva incredulously, holding her dripping arms wide.

'Verily!' he reassured her. 'But let us go now, and allow these girls their rest – and get you drying in the sun.'

Truva had to step quickly to keep pace with the sprightly Radagast as, after a final strong pat of Bertha's shoulder, he exited the barn and made towards the foothills of Dor-en-Ernil. The gently rolling scrubland swarmed with activity; workers scurried about, burdened with logs balanced precariously upon their backs, or passing baskets of earth and rock from hand to hand. All movement was funnelled upwards into the hills, where the makings of a guard tower were beginning to emerge.

'What is the purpose of all this activity?' asked Truva, observing the chaos of construction.

'As the land lies now, a rider wishing to travel between Dol Amroth and Pelargir must either circle wide north around Dor-en-Ernil, or veer sharply south of the hills,' Radagast explained. 'This proved to Gondor's great detriment during the War. Do you see that narrow rift?'

He extended a knotted, wizened finger towards a steep ravine between two hills. Truva nodded.

'The company here seeks to widen that and establish a direct roadway easily traversed by large companies, eliminating the need to circumnavigate the hills and exponentially reducing travel time between the two South Gondor cities.'

'And the Oliphaunts?' asked Truva.

'Their work is precisely what you might expect,' he said, looking ahead to where three Oliphaunts shifted incredible amounts of debris, driving machinery to break the earth and level the road behind. One easily did the work of a score of men. 'They are our greatest strength, but each day, the creatures choose whether they will aid us in our work – and it is simply our good fortune they do more often than not.

'To be quite frank, I am astonished they still bear some goodwill towards men; I do not like to think on what they might have endured at the hands of the Southrons.'

Radagast fell into a contemplative silence then as they continued their ascent, but not two moments later, Ennebyn came racing after them.

'Wizard, wizard!' he shouted. 'You'd best see to Edith. I've had word she's in one of her fits again, and she's not eaten properly since you left.'

'Ah, as I feared. No improvement?'

'She was doing well enough this morning, but seems to have taken a turn for the worse.'

'I will go at once.' Radagast turned about and began to descend the hill. Truva made as if to follow, but the Wizard held his hand up to stop her. 'Sincerest apologies, but I do not think it prudent to have unfamiliar Men about when Edith is in one of her moods. Would you perhaps prefer to work amongst the labourers? I will be but a moment.'

'If I can make myself useful, I would do so,' said Truva. If an Oliphaunt that approved of her saw fit to drench her in water, she was loath to discover what treatment a sick Oliphaunt might subject her to.

'Excellent,' said Radagast. 'Ennebyn, if you would be so kind.'

'Most certainly,' said the caretaker. He guided Truva further up the hill as Radagast bustled off to investigate the source of Edith's discontent. They soon joined a basket brigade, passing unfired clay along a long line of workers that stretched all the way from the bottom of the hills to the developing guard tower itself. Like their city counterparts, these Gondorian workers were polite and friendly, but did not make a fuss over the Marshal or press her with detailed questions.

For a time, Truva joined their ranks quite happily; she was grateful to have a productive activity to occupy her. But an hour passed, and then a second, and she began to grow restless.

'How long do you anticipate it will take the Wizard to treat your sick Oliphaunt?' she asked Ennebyn.

'There's no saying with Edith,' he shrugged. 'She's a right mystery.'

The caretaker seemed quite satisfied with his own answer, and so Truva returned to the task at hand. The day wore on, the materials transported in her basket altered several times, but still Radagast did not reappear.

Truva grew even more concerned. She wondered whether she ought not leave Radagast and return to Dol Amroth alone; yet still she had not spoken with the Wizard about Gandalf's cryptic warnings – and with the Alcarindur's fast-approaching departure, she feared the opportunity for answers of any sort would vanish. And so she laboured on.

It was not until the shadows grew very long indeed that she spied Radagast emerge from between several buildings at the base of the hill.

But in that very same moment, a bell rang out. As one, the workers set aside their work, rushed down to the makeshift town, and stacked their baskets beside a storehouse. Truva raced after them, thinking some misfortune must have arisen – the Corsairs, perhaps; they had struck at last! Yet even as she drew near to where Radagast stood waiting, the fragrant scent of roasting meat greeted her.

'It is time for supper,' said the Wizard, evident glee upon his face. 'Let us enjoy our evening meal, and stay the night. Never fret – this was an eventuality I spoke of to your King,' he added, noting Truva's frantic expression.

And so, unease mildly alleviated, Truva stood in line amongst the other workers and gratefully accepted a steaming bowl from the canteen chefs. When she began to follow those ahead of her towards a long, brightly-lit and boisterous hall, however, Radagast held her back.

'There are rather more comfortable accommodations set aside for us this evening,' he said, indicating the immense barn.

Before Truva's very eyes, several Oliphaunts – fresh from a bath, deep grey skin glistening in the setting sun – stomped through the open barn doors and filed into their separate stalls, very much in the manner of well-trained horses. Awaiting them were huge satchels of hay and browse hanging upon the wall. These the creatures dug into with enthusiasm, feet stomping in freshly raked earth.

Truva and Radagast entered in the Oliphaunts' wake. The Wizard made directly for Bertha's stall, taking a seat in a pile straw beside her and inviting Truva to join him. It was not uncomfortable; indeed, it recalled to Truva the occasional nights she had spent with Bron when he was unwell. For a time, she became preoccupied with suppressing her surging emotions with the Dol Amrothinians' roasted quail.

'You eat well,' the Wizard remarked.

Truva did not respond; her throat was so tight she couldn't. As it was, Radagast had no genuine intention of engaging in trifling pleasantries. He too was preoccupied, attention devoted to picking apart his supper rather than eating it. Truva did not interrupt his ruminations.

'I have no great reason for delaying the conversation you seek, save that I myself understand little of it,' he finally began. 'I know only those snippets which Gandalf mentioned obliquely – in and of themselves no more than guesses constructed from mere hints of old tales. I have heard, too, whispers from my animal friends that roam the lands.'

Truva did not respond, but her eyes were fixed on the Wizard, his figure rendered obscure by the dusky twilight in the barn. Only his voice was distinct as he continued, 'Let me first ask what you know of Valinor.'

'Valinor?' Truva questioned, her brows forming a deep furrow of confusion. 'Never have I heard this name before.'

'The telling of its history is long and complex, and involves the creation of the very world itself,' explained Radagast. 'Valinor is a land apart, and the beings that dwell there are not of the like of Men or Elves or Dwarves; yet love these Children they did, and to shield them from the terrors of Sauron they sent five emissaries.

'I was called Aiwendil in those days, and bade to accompany Curumo – whom I believe you know as Saruman. Gandalf you also know, though he too bore a different name: that of Olórin.'

'And the remaining two Wizards?' asked Truva, already enthralled by the tale.

'It is unknown what became of Alatar and his companion Pallando. They departed for the East with the intention of defusing any conflict that might arise, and to impede Sauron's influence in the region from the Ered Mithrin in the north to the Sea of Rhûn in the east. Whether they still live I cannot say, for no news of their activities was ever delivered unto us; yet it would seem they failed in their mission, for a great many Easterlings fell into rank behind the forces of Mordor during the War of the Ring.'

Despite the warmth of the barn, a shudder ran through Truva. 'Why is it that Gandalf grows concerned with them now? The War is over and Sauron has fallen.'

'This past autumn he confided in me his suspicions that Middle Earth would swiftly grow unsettled once again, even in the wake of Sauron's destruction – for ever does evil labour with vast power and perpetual success. The Corsairs' attack demonstrates just that. And though Gondor's list of allies grows longer than ever, its lands are weakened by war and winter. Perhaps Gandalf believed that, in having failed once, Alatar and Pallando could be convinced to redeem themselves, and lend succour to the West.'

'Is that all Gandalf wished for me to know?' asked Truva. 'Of what relation does such information have to me?'

'I imagine very little, quite frankly,' said Radagast. 'Save that rumours from the birds and the bees suggest a connection – however faint – established between Rhûn and your Hidlands: a supply of slaves for fighting, sourced from the Inland Sea and smuggled west by an undetermined clan of Dwarves; for the descendants of several Houses still linger there. I suspect Gandalf merely wished to use this tenuous connection to prompt your involvement in the matter; that you might venture East in search of answers about your past, and in doing so perhaps also stumble upon what became of the Ithryn Luin – the Blue Wizards.'

'Why does Gandalf not go in search of them himself?'

Radagast gave a soft chuckle. 'He is rather preoccupied with another Wizard at the moment.'

'Saruman,' Truva hazarded. Radagast nodded.

'Saruman was the source of great destruction in the Shire after the War, but slipped away even as the Halflings closed in around him. Gandalf has been seeking him out ever since.'

'So learning of my own origins was merely a pretence,' Truva mused, somewhat peeved. 'Had Gandalf simply tasked me with searching out the Blue Wizards, I would have done so freely.'

'Who can predict the convoluted workings of a Wizard's mind? Even I myself find it incomprehensible. But you needn't make a decision immed—'

'I will go.'

Radagast peered at her in the darkness. 'It is not a decision to be made hasti—'

'I will go,' Truva repeated. She had made the calculations long ago: how the Dol Amrothinian forces meant her presence on the southward campaign was far less crucial, how securing the Blue Wizards' aid held the potential to definitively quash the Southrons' unceasing antagonism. How the Drúedain's gift eased her concerns for the survival of Aldburg, and afforded her time to embark on such an ambitious journey.

She dared not think of Aragorn, or how this would part them yet again – perhaps forever, if she were to discover an insurmountable barrier in the search for her origins. 'I will go.'

'Very well,' Radagast said with a sigh. 'But I fear you must go soon, for Gandalf's unease when discussing the matter – though I do not know its cause – gave me great pause. For now, however, let us settle in for the night, and depart for Dol Amroth upon the morrow.'

Truva burrowed into the straw, her mind roiling with thoughts of Wizards and Dwarves and unknown lands. The Oliphaunts' soughing soothed her unsettled mind; the hulking shapes of two or three made tiny mountains as they lay in repose, the others rustled in the darkness, but they all gave her a sense of being not alone.

Then Radagast spoke once more: 'The night will be cold,' he said. 'Do not be so hesitant to draw near – they greatly enjoy our company.'

And so Truva stood and approached Bertha, whose thick hide rose and fell gently with each slow breath. When she laid a hand gently upon Bertha's knee, the Oliphaunt unwound her trunk and snaked it around the Eorling warrior, drawing her close to study her with small, dark eyes. Not even Aragorn gazed at her with such intensity.

In the next moment, Truva was swept off her feet and curled within the embrace of Bertha's trunk. She flinched slightly when the tip nuzzled her cheek, yet soon she grew relaxed, and somnolence washed over her in waves as the creature's warmth kept the night chill at bay.