Recommended listening: Glass, String Quartet No. 4

CHAPTER IX: DEPARTURES AND SEPARATIONS

'Good morning, Marshal.'

Truva's hand flew to her sword hilt before her eyes even opened. Radagast's face was bent so near to hers that each crease in his wizened face was visible. 'Time to go.'

Taking deep, calming breaths, Truva removed her hand from Fréodhel as Radagast and disappeared through the barn doors. With one last pat of Bertha's wrinkled trunk, Truva slipped past Oliphaunts shifting restlessly in their stalls and followed in the Wizard's wake. The sun had not yet slipped above the horizon and a light morning fog graced the scrubland, yet already there were men about, preparing for a new day of labour.

The strange duo of Wizard and Marshal did not stay for breakfast. Roheryn, for one, was clearly eager to be gone; he shimmied away from the mountainous Oliphaunts as they emerged from the barn. Setting a fair clip, he bore Truva back to Dol Amroth, with Radagast not far behind, and it was scarcely midafternoon before the two bore down upon the city gates.

'Thank you for your elucidation on topics Gandalf had been so recalcitrant regarding,' said Truva as she rubbed Roheryn down in the citadel stables.

Radagast lingered in the stall entrance, seemingly having a secondary, silent conversation with Roheryn even as he spoke with Truva: 'I am only sorry I had so little knowledge to impart.'

'It is not the first time I shall embark on a journey knowing perhaps less than I ought,' Truva laughed quietly.

'Perhaps.' Radagast patted her on the forearm sympathetically. 'Perhaps. May fair winds bear you and your pony to fairer places, Marshal,' he said, before turning to care for his own mount.

Taking her leave of Radagast, Truva set out in search of Aragorn – for surely he would be curious to learn of all the Wizard had told her; yet the King was not to be found in the dining hall, nor Prince Imrahil's study. She even inquired after the location of his private chambers, though there was no answer at her knock.

'Why do you seek an audience with the King?' came a voice as she raised a fist to try again.

Truva spun from Aragorn's door, only to spy Éomer King emerging from the neighbouring one. 'Milord!' she exclaimed.

'I assume it is related to that strange Wizard absconding with you yesterday – he is peculiar, even for a Wizard, is he not?'

'I cannot disagree,' said Truva. 'What was it that Radagast told you?'

'To be quite frank, I am not entirely sure. Some indecipherable nonsense about heritage and community and such. Perhaps you can offer me more clarity?'

Truva took a deep, steadying breath. Not even with her beloved Éomer King had she shared the details of her predicament – and in speaking with him, she would have to balance the information he ought to know with that which she still desired to keep secret.

'The Wizard Greyhame seems to think it time I seek out my parentage,' she began, 'and in doing so, perhaps garner more support for Gondor and the West.'

'Your parentage?' said Éomer, brow furrowing. 'Do we not already consider the Hidlands amongst our allies? Captain Chaya and Halbarad consistently send news out of Rhudaur, regarding the positive developments in that region.'

'The Hidlands are where I was found, but they are not where I am from.'

Éomer's confusion only grew. 'I am afraid you are making about as much sense as Radagast. Where else might your origin be, if not the Hidlands? For I very much doubt the Wizard meant the Riddermark…'

'Rhûn.'

'Rhûn!' Éomer exclaimed. 'And what in Helm's name lies in Rhûn, save Easterlings and Orcs that allied themselves with Sauron?'

'Perhaps the family from which I was stolen, and perhaps two Wizards who disappeared into the East many Ages ago – though I very much believe it was only the latter in which Gandalf had any interest.'

'More Wizards.' Éomer shook his head. 'Still, the Corsairs' attack has demonstrated how vulnerable Gondor and her allies are, and if there is succour to be found in Rhûn, so be it. When do you depart? If it is my permission you seek, you have it.'

'That is in part why I seek Aragorn King: to hear his will, and learn whether he believes I will better serve our cause in sailing to Umbar in your company, or making straight for Rhûn. Do you not know of his whereabouts?'

'No; 'tis strange, he is typically so forthright in all his plans, and yet vanished this morning even more mysteriously than you.'

Truva frowned. 'I will continue my search, then,' she said, turning towards the staircase leading to the battlements.

But Aragorn was to be found nowhere within the citadel, nor amongst the teeming mass of sailors working to prepare the Alcarindur and her flotilla for their departure. None could so much as hazard a guess as to where he might be found. And so, resigning herself, Truva lent a hand to the labourers, transporting all manner of barrel and box up gangways. Only once the ships were fully stocked and the evening gloom rendered further work impossible did she return alongside the others to the city walls.

Gathering in the dining hall, Dol Amrothinian sailor and northern warrior alike supped upon their last hot meal together. They gambolled about merrily and consumed more than a few cups of wine, but Truva could not bring herself to join in their frivolity. Aragorn's absence perturbed her, and there was at least one other for which she felt responsible. Offering her untouched chalice to Gamhelm – who gladly accepted – Truva gathered a plate of the finest delicacies and slipped from the dining hall into the corridor beyond. From there, she swiftly made her way to the infirmary, where Fofrin dug into his second dinner as though he hadn't eaten in a fortnight.

'Rumour has it you went and saw the Oliphaunts,' he remarked, a buttered roll disappearing into his mouth.

Truva took a moment to recover her train of thought. 'Oliphaunts? Why yes, I did.'

'Cor, what I wouldn't give to touch one!'

'Perhaps you might yet be afforded the opportunity,' said Truva, a genuine smile reaching her lips. 'They're quite incredible creatures; it was strange to see how docile they are, when only a few months ago they unleashed great destruction upon the fields of the Pelennor.' She began examining Fofrin's bandages as though the Dol Amrothinian nurses weren't wholly more competent than she.

Then her hands stilled, and she peered at the young sailor. 'Have you any notion of returning to Osgiliath or Mundburg?'

'I go where orders demand,' Fofrin shrugged nonchalantly. 'The others go south, and so I will await their return.'

'And if there have been some… minor alterations to our plans,' Truva prompted, 'would you not be interested in venturing home? It would free Dol Amroth's resources for their own warriors, should Aragorn King's overtures for negotiations not fare well.'

'What kind of alterations?'

'I intend to return northward on an unrelated matter.'

'In that case, I've no qualms!' Fofrin exclaimed. I'm right sick of this infirmary – though I think I shall miss the sea. Sailor though I may be, I've spent the majority of my time cutting along the Anduin, and river waters just don't sound the same.'

'You'll not be too sorry to leave Dol Amroth?'

'You'll forgive me saying, Marshal, but I find the prospect of travelling in your company far preferable to near anything else.'

But Truva did not hear Fofrin's saccharine reply, for through the infirmary window she had spied Aragorn slipping into the courtyard through the citadel gates. He was cowled in an unassuming cloak, but his figure and stride were unmistakable.

'Be ready to sail tomorrow morn,' Truva said to Fofrin. 'Now, if you'll excuse me…'

Deaf to the young sailor's protestations at being left alone once more, Truva bolted from the infirmary and raced through the corridors, fearful that Aragorn would vanish again if she did not make all haste. She exited a side door and dashed along winding garden paths, coming upon the King just as he passed behind a towering pear tree.

'Aragorn!' she called softly, his familiar name still strange upon her lips.

He emerged from behind the tree. Faint light pooling from the vast halls and rooms of the citadel wing illuminated his face just enough to reveal the smile that blossomed there. 'Truva,' he said, drawing near.

'What kept you all day?'

Aragorn reached to take her hands, but quickly reconsidered with a quick glance to the bright dining hall, where a great many warriors still sat at their meal. 'I apologise if I caused you to fret,' he said. 'I had affairs to resolve at the ruins of Edhellond.'

'Edhellond? What affairs?'

'Alas, they are not mine to share – though they herald happy news, and I anticipate the time shall not be long before all is made clear,' said he. Capitalising on Truva's confused silence, he asked, 'And your excursion with Radagast? What strange fancy did he tell this time?'

Setting aside his perplexing reticence, Truva relayed to him all that Radagast had shared with her, leaving no detail unmentioned. Aragorn's face grew more contemplative all the while.

'The Ithryn Luin,' he mused when at last her tale came to an end. 'So Gandalf suspects they live still.'

'I cannot say, and I imagine you already know a great deal more than I.'

'What do you intend to do?' he asked, instinctively drawing closer to Truva. 'When will you go?'

'Such questions I had hoped you would help me answer.'

Aragorn sighed heavily. 'It is with unease that I lead my men into the waters of Umbar; our numbers are thin, even with the bolstering of Swan Knights, and the loss of a warrior such as yourself would be grave indeed.'

'You still count Éomer King amongst your company, and we repelled the Corsairs from Pelargir with but a fraction of the force you will sail out with tomorrow.' Truva reassured him. ' As for myself, there is yet good reason to make northward, even at this very junction. Upon reaching Osgiliath, I shall have the opportunity to send a personal messenger to Elfhelm Marshal, appraising him of the situation; thus the Riddermark will be well-defended, and prepared to come to Gondor's aid if need be. And if, as Radagast suggests, there is any succour to be found in the East, I shall find it.'

'Perhaps it is for the best,' Aragorn murmured, the tips of his fingers surreptitiously brushing against hers. 'You will be far from danger should ill fate find us amongst the Corsairs. But what of your other purpose in venturing East?'

Truva stared up into his eyes, full well knowing she could not conceal the fear in her own. 'I know not what I will find – I cannot so much as hazard a guess. In the Hidlands, those few Dwarves that came amongst us were always secretive of their clans and associations; and if they do indeed traverse from the far East all the way over the Misty Mountains, I could have been taken from any manner of situation: not only from Rhûn, but also from the families of Men who occupy Rhovanion, of Dale in the East or the Vale of Eámicel in the West; from the Woodmen, or even the Beornings!'

Her apprehensions laid bare before her, Truva fell silent. Aragorn, too, did not speak for a time, the corners of his mouth pinched together – and then he began to laugh! He did so quietly, as not to attract unwanted attention, but this only caused his shoulders to shake in repressed mirth. Very much taken aback, Truva stared as he struggled to regain his composure.

'Why do you mock me so?' she demanded.

'Have you recently felt the urge to transform into an immense ursid?' he quipped. Truva frowned, but Aragorn cast caution aside and intertwined his fingers with hers, expressing sincerity with the warmth of his grasp. 'Know this before you embark, Truva: that not a single discovery you could possibly make upon your journey would have even the slightest bearing upon my affection for you – even if you were to turn out half-bear.'

Truva's heart leapt, even as her eyes dropped to their clasped hands. To be half-bear seemed the least of her worries. In a rush, she strove to push aside thoughts she desperately did not wish to dwell upon: thoughts of being expected to leave her beloved Mark, of being rejected by the subjects of Gondor due to her land of origin (adopted or otherwise) and her lowly position; concern for what demands might be made of her as a head of state – for a King was the commander of his army, but what hope could a foreign Queen have of assuming her own position within its ranks?

If Aragorn was still willing to have her after all was laid bare, would Truva be reduced to a mere figurehead, to spend her days passively watching and listening – never talking, or speaking, or acting?

These thoughts Truva pushed aside even as they sought to creep in, for there was no sense in worrying about that which might never bear any significance; there were far less prestigious lineages lurking in the East than that of the Beornings. What mattered most was the Man who stood before her, heart swollen with the promise of unfettered love.

'Would that I did not have to leave you,' she whispered.

'Travel with Legolas and Gimli,' Aragorn exclaimed suddenly. 'If it is allies we seek, let us leave no course unpursued. In the name of Aragorn, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Anor, and her ally King Éomer of Rohan, travel not only to Rhûn, but all the lands of the north, with whom our relationship has always been tenuous at best. In the halls of his father, Legolas may serve as liaison amongst the Woodland Elves, and Gimli for the Dwarves beneath the Lonely Mountain – for otherwise you might not even be granted audience.'

'You would mourn the loss of a single warrior, only to suggest the departure of three?' An amused smile pulled at one corner of Truva's lips.

'It is a small price to pay for the assurance of your safety, and the security of my Kingdom,' said Aragorn, rubbing his thumbs across the back of her hands.

Truva considered the ever-shifting variables for a moment. 'To take such a route would greatly delay my travels. Would it not be better to cut across Dagorlad?'

'Those barren lands are yet perilous, teeming with the misdeeds of Sauron's old servants. And even in my own travels many years ago, I found the western reaches of Rhûn entirely hostile, and could venture no further than the Emyn Ninniach. All political motives aside, I suspect you will find more success in approaching from the north.'

'That may be, but I cannot make such a request of your companions: abandoning the southward campaign to chase after hares in the underbrush,' Truva argued – though in truth it was little more than the prospect of travelling with the cantankerous duo that daunted her.

'No, and nor I would not expect you to make it,' said Aragorn, 'for it is I who shall ask.'

Truva could think of no further protestations, and struggled to keep her face composed as certitude sank in. 'Very well,' she said, her words marked by a distinct tinge of resignation. It was an easy declaration to make to the Wizard Radagast, but far more difficult to the man it would separate her from: 'I will go.'

'And in you, all our hopes will be placed.' Aragorn gave a quick look about at the surrounding wings of the citadel before bringing her hand to his lips. 'Have you consulted with Éomer?'

'Only regarding the general circumstances. I wished to know your mind before making any definitive decision.'

'My mind is that I long for the mystery of your origin to be resolved,' said Aragorn. With a gentle sigh, he bent close, whispered words brushing across Truva's cheeks. 'Not because it might alter my love for you, but so that I might share that love with the world, rather than secreting it away in shadowy gardens.'

Truva's breath caught in her chest. Following her own sweeping glance for observers, she drew Aragorn around to the opposite side of the pear tree, where a hedge of myrtle hid them from view. There, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him. Swiftly recovering from his initial surprise, Aragorn swept Truva into his arms, pressing his lips to hers. For a blissful moment the world was suspended; Aragorn's touch and the light breeze that carried the salty scent of the sea was all that anchored Truva to this world.

But all too soon, Truva was to be cast adrift. Against all her desires, the following morning – and her parting from Aragorn – came.

From even the earliest hours of dawn, swarms of warriors milled about the docks of Dol Amroth, executing last-minute preparations. The King's Riders had scarcely finished their breakfast before Truva and Gamhelm led them back down along the switchbacks between city gate and port. But as they drew near the fleet that would bear them hence, the company's steps slowed – for they, too, were loath to speak their goodbyes. None knew where their paths would take them, or what they would encounter along the way; and days of late had taught them that any separation could prove to be a final one.

When the inevitable could be delayed no longer, Gamhelm cleared his throat conspicuously and stepped forward.

'Helm protect you, Marshal,' he said, clapping Truva several times on the shoulder. Beútan merely drew her into an embrace, gave her several solid thumps on the back, then turned abruptly, hiding his face.

As her companions coaxed their mounts up the gangway into the Alcarindur's hold, Truva turned instead towards the Cirthaid, which bobbed just beside the larger flagship. A minimal envoy of Dol Amrothinian sailors – provided to escort Truva and the others as far as Osgiliath, at the suggestion of Aragorn King – stood on the docks just beside the Cirthaid, their preparations complete. They eyed with misgiving the bickering figures of Legolas and Gimli beside them.

'To the Lonely Mountain and back have I gone since the War, gathering about me those who would come to Aglarond and settle it.' The Dwarf's gruff complaints could be heard clear across the pier. 'I see no point in going back now – once a decade is far more than frequent enough to greet one's extended family!'

'If we hope to foster an alliance of any great number, the discord between Elves and Dwarves in the northern reaches of Rhovanion cannot go unaddressed,' said Legolas. 'And I very much doubt any save we could possibly effect a resolution on that front.'

'Oh, aye – but wouldn't I just like to dig my axe into some Corsair's skull!' said Gimli, thumbing the blade of that very weapon. 'Those rogues sure gave us the runabout at Pelargir – twice! It's about time we repaid such kindness.'

'Aragorn intends for his journey to be a mere diplomatic mission, my friend,' Legolas reasoned. 'Do not be so quick to assume you would have any opportunity for revenge, even if we were to accompany him.'

The Dwarf merely grunted in response, though he was quick to greet Truva when she drew near. 'Marshal! And your opinion? Had you your druthers, whither would you prefer to travel?'

'I would go where duty takes me,' replied Truva.

'Pragmatic as ever,' huffed the Dwarf. 'Come, let us get your horse aboard and set sail. I harbour little enthusiasm for being upon the water once again – and am even less eager to subject myself to the lecturing of my relations – yet the sooner it begins, the sooner it shall end.'

As they looked on, healers from the infirmary bore Fofrin and several other injured Gondorian warriors down from the citadel. Truva followed them into the hold of the Cirthaid, which was significantly less spacious than the Alcarindur; she was forced to settle Roheryn in between numerous stockpiles of grain and livestock bound for northern markets before reemerging onto the main deck.

From this vantage point, she spied Éomer and Aragorn weaving through the port's bustling crowds. In a few hasty bounds, she returned to the dock to greet them.

'Safe sailing,' said Éomer King, stepping forward. 'Send word to Elfhelm that he is to muster the éoherë in Edoras, and not to post in Aldburg; let us be ready, but not rashly overexert our resources – with any luck, this conflict will be resolved without further incident.'

'Yes, milord,' said Truva.

'Whither you may travel in the north, you are my emissary,' he continued. 'When you speak, you do so with my voice, and in the interest of the Riddermark. In truth, there is none whom I would trust more with this task – not even Elfhelm Marshal; for bold and brave as he is upon the battlefield, and astute in council, his words are swift and unguarded. But you are circumspect, and speak with a wisdom that exceeds the boundaries of our lands, having been born beyond them. May you serve us well.'

Éomer then looked upon Truva in a most brotherly fashion, placing a steady hand upon her shoulder. 'Go now, and whether we be greeted along our way by the fickle zephyr of fate or the bitter tempest of misfortune, let us meet the headwind squarely and boldly. Whatever you might discover, you shall always be – to myself and all Eorlingas – a daughter of the Mark.'

Truva's throat tightened. 'Thank you, milord,' she said after several failed attempts. 'I doubt we shall meet again terribly soon, but our reunion will be all the more happy for our long absence.'

The two Eorling leaders embraced then, yet even as they drew apart, Truva caught a glimpse of Aragorn over Éomer's shoulder. He bowed stiffly before making for the Alcarindur, followed by the Captains Maeron and Bardlorn, and all those who would sail southward. But Truva was unmoved by Aragorn's aloof behaviour, for indeed they had agreed the previous evening to preserve a façade of mere civility, and so she simply stood upon the docks, bidding the substantial company farewell.

No sooner had they gained the deck than the bell of Tirith Aear was sounded. The Alcarindur cast off, followed by a swarm of billowing sails.

Truva scrambled onto the Cirthaid just in time as it, too, slowly drifted from the dock. She spied Galador amongst the crowds gathered on the shore and returned his enthusiastic waves, regretful that she had not had the time to seek him out and explored the city in his company. But such adventures would have to come another day, for those that remained behind now became smaller and smaller until they were mere dots, then no longer perceptible.

Suddenly restless, Truva strode towards the Cirthaid's prow. Even as the ship pulled away from the coast, she cast a glance back upon Dol Amroth and observed seabirds winging between the city's towers, lit gloriously by the morning sunlight; but so too did those towers grow distant, and Truva turned instead to look ahead to the Alcarindur.

Leaning heavily upon the Cirthaid's railing, Truva watched sailors dashing about the deck of the forward ship. Uncertainty weighed heavily on her mind; despite Radagast's reassurances, she could not help but fear her ventures in the north would bring no answers, and that no good would come of Aragorn and Éomer's exploits in the south.

'No use worrying about what's to come if there's naught you can do about it, Marshal,' said a voice behind her. Truva turned to find Gimli peering at her intently. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she resumed her observances of the Alcarindur.

'Perhaps if I worry enough, some action that lies within my power will occur to me,' she answered.

'Unlikely.' The gentle tones of Legolas joined those of his companion. 'The Kings of the North embark upon their own journey; their fate lies in their own hands.'

Truva grimaced. 'I worry for my King.' She did not specify which king, for indeed there was no need – she held equal concern for each. 'And for ourselves.'

'Knowledge of the Ithryn Luin has passed even from the Elves,' said Legolas. 'To theorise over phantoms is an exercise in futility.'

'And the northern kingdoms lie now in peace,' added Gimli. 'It will be no great effort to ensure their alliance with the renewed Kingdom of Gondor, which ever stands as a bulwark between them and the undiminished threat of the south.'

Truva shook her head, but did not respond. It seemed Aragorn had made no mention to them of her own personal motivation for setting forth, for which she was deeply grateful. What comforts could they speak to her of? Both Legolas and Gimli came from many generations of lords and kings, their lineage writ upon the ages.

'Come, let us turn our minds to more fruitful ventures,' offered Legolas.

With a nod, Truva relented, for Legolas' words were not amiss. She descended after her companions into the berth – though there was little to occupy them, having just set sail in a wholly seaworthy vessel. Truva assisted the crew of sailors in their rowing duties, and brought Fofrin and the other wounded soldiers their noontime meal; otherwise, a great portion of the day she spent wandering aimlessly about, or in the company of Roheryn.

Come evening, as those in the mess below pulled out fiddles and flutes and cards, she retreated to the upper decks. Waves glimmered with the fiery light of sunset, capped by clouds scuttling high in the sky. Terns dipped and wheeled, plummeting only to reappear with writhing mackerel or anchovies in beak.

Truva returned to the bow, where a salty wind whipped every strand of her plaited hair. Though late evening had settled upon the scene, and the Alcarindur gained a great distance, still she could discern a single faint figure pacing upon the flagship's aftcastle. Her eyesight was not so good as to be able to determine their identity, yet a single pinprick of light – a lantern, perhaps – suddenly flared and swayed above the ship's railing.

'It is Aragorn,' said Legolas, approaching undetected for the second time that day. He likewise bore a lantern, and waved it over his head in greeting. As its companion upon the other deck waved in response, he handed the lantern to Truva, then turned and was gone.

Truva stared after him, thoughts whirling in her mind. She had heard tales of old, when Men used patterns in light to communicate across great distances, and wished fervently that she possessed such knowledge. But she did not, and so merely gazed across the span of waves towards the second lantern, content in the knowledge that it was Aragorn who bore it. His figure slowly became indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness, yet she would have stood there throughout the night, had not two additional lanterns approached. The three lights huddled in conference a short while, then suddenly were gone.

Such was the life of a king; duties ever unceasing. With a sigh, Truva returned belowdecks.

The fleet gained the isle of Tolfalas, that austere sentinel, the following afternoon. Here, they were sundered; the Alcarindur and her armada continued along the coast towards Umbar, whereas the Cirthaid alone turned to advance up the Eámicel. However, it seemed Truva alone felt dispirited at such partings for the mood amongst her companions was unchanged – or perhaps grew even more boisterous, enthusiastic as they were to return home.

Their journey northward was considerably less eventful than their southward ventures, sparking hopeful murmurs that the Corsairs had well and truly abandoned any attempt at assailing the lands of Gondor. Repairs at Pelargir had progressed with astonishing speed – though in their rush, the Cirthaid merely sounded its greeting and made no attempt to dock there – and the hills of South Ithilien remained undisturbed.

When the Cirthaid came upon Harlond, however, it was clear those that guarded the port did not share their optimism. The breakwaters were fortified nearly beyond recognition, and it was not until port sentries ascertained the Cirthaid did not sail under false colours that the vessel was allowed to pass.

Thus, Truva and the others docked in snow-capped Osgiliath six days following their departure from Dol Amroth. Gimli was especially vocal in his joy at placing his feet upon solid ground once more, and though she had grown mildly more accustomed to the peculiar sensation of maritime travel, Truva did not entirely disagree.

A drove of longshoremen descended upon the Cirthaid, rapidly transferring its stores onto the quay and subsequently into storehouses. Truva immediately sought out a messenger by which she might convey Éomer King's orders to Elfhelm Marshal, then oversaw the transfer of Fofrin to the city's infirmary – though he quickly shooed her away after securing her promise to visit him before proceeding upriver. These tasks completed, she returned for Roheryn, who seemed neither bothered to leave the ship, nor anticipant to return to land.

'You'd best make sure that beast is situated as comfortable as can be, Marshal,' said Gimli, transporting a grain bag as large as himself down the gangway behind her. 'We've a ways to travel yet, and it shan't be by pony that we go.'

'If not by horse, then how shall we go?' Truva asked.

'Boat!' the Dwarf exclaimed.

'It was my understanding you harboured a rather intense distaste for sailing,' she said, confused by his evident glee.

'Anything is preferable to those infernal creatures,' was his grumbled reply, with a glance to Roheryn.

'Would it not be faster to ride?' asked Truva. 'Though Gondor's horses be not Mearas, surely they are swifter than a common vessel sailing upriver. I would have thought – given the choice between two unideal alternatives – we would elect to take the most expeditious route.'

'Ah, but it is not any contraption born of Gondorian hand by which we shall travel,' said Legolas, capering down after his companion, though the load he bore was far heavier. 'Two boats there were that tumbled down over the Rauros-falls: that which bore the body of our beloved Boromir—'

'Durin keep him,' interjected Gimli.

'—of whom I suspect you know little, and that which was dislodged from the eastern bank of Nen Hithoel, following Frodo—'

'Valinor accept him,' Gimli interrupted again.

'—and Samwise's dash towards the Emyn Muil. Come, my friend,' said Legolas, laying a hand upon the Dwarf's shoulder. 'Do not mourn overly much, for nothing that has yet come to pass is unchangeable; our fair hero bides yet in his pleasant Shire home.'

'Would that I had your stout heart,' Gimli muttered, giving his eyes a brusque rub.

'And it is this second boat we are to take?' asked Truva.

'Verily!' said Legolas. 'For it is a canoe of Elven make, come from the lands of Lórien, and shall bear us hence more fleetly than any horse, though we travel against the current. So go now, and put Roheryn to stable – for he has earned his rest, and shall loyally await your return.'

'I have had word you were accommodated at an inn upon your last passing through Osgiliath,' said Gimli. 'Go there, once your beast has been tended to, and we shall meet you there come suppertime, horsemaster.'

And so Truva made her way through the cobblestone streets of Osgiliath, following the directions of friendly passersby, until she arrived before the humble yet adequate stables of state. A press of grooms greeted her upon entering, yet she refused to entrust Roheryn to their care – not out of any mistrust of the Gondorians' equestrian skills, but for the simple fact that she wished to spend every possible moment before her departure in Roheryn's company.

She had just taken a pick in hand and was applying herself to Roheryn's hooves when a booming voice spoke behind her:

'Thought I'd find you here!'

Truva smiled; she knew that voice at once. 'Steady on, Blackbramble,' she said. 'I've a good deal of work to be done yet.'

'All's well, so long as a pint awaits at the end!' he replied. 'And I'm doubly thankful to have someone to share it with. I'm right glad you didn't die in Pelargir, Marshal.'

'As am I,' said Truva with a brief but heartfelt glance towards Blackbramble, whose massive frame leaned casually against a central pillar. But when he caught better sight of her, he stepped forward, peering at her from head to toe.

'What in Helm's name are you wearing?' he exclaimed.

Truva looked down at the ostentatious Pelargirian garb and smiled rather sheepishly. 'I daresay it isn't befitting a journey of any length, is it?'

'You'll want changing before you continue on,' Blackbramble agreed. He entered the stall and picked up a spare comb, running it through Roheryn's curly coat. 'You know, even come the end of the War, still I little understood these beasts,' he said. 'But in working beside them to restore Osgiliath, I have grown to have a warm affection for them.'

'They have a way of doing that.' Truva straightened and turned to regard her companion for a moment, taking in his bulky figure, his shaved head and warm brown eyes, round and innocent. 'Might I ask a favour of you?'

'Always and anything, my Captain.'

Truva smiled at this earnest term of address. 'Would you look after Roheryn in my absence, as well as a young Gondorian sailor by the name of Fofrin? He is no more than a child; you shall find him in the infirmary. Though I have never found the Gondorians' care lacking, I would be much reassured in the knowledge there is one more guardian watching over them.'

'How peculiar; I have been asked a similar favour for Shadowfax.'

'Shadowfax?' questioned Truva, striving and failing to keep her exclamation neutral. 'You mean to say the king of all Mearas is here in these stables?'

Rather than answer, Blackbramble merely shuffled through the reed flooring towards a stall at the far end of the stables. When he drew near, the white nose of the King's mount protruded from a slat in the railing, only to disappear once more – for Shadowfax was too preoccupied with his evening meal to properly greet his visitors.

'He was brought here from Emyn Arnen, in anticipation of King Aragorn's return from Pelargir,' Blackbramble explained. 'I will do as you ask, and see to the horses in their masters' absence, and to the young sailor Fofrin.'

'Thank you, my friend,' said Truva. 'My unease is greatly assuaged. Now let us get those pints!'

'And you some new clothes!'