Recommended listening: Glière — String Quartet No. 2

CHAPTER XIX: LAKE-TOWN

Dawn had not broken before Truva slipped from her chambers the following morning. Legolas sat before the fire as though he had not moved from it all night, and perhaps he had not – though Truva suspected the waybread and full waterskin arrayed upon the table were his doing.

'What of Gimli?' she whispered in the early morning stillness as she added these supplies to her pack.

'Still abed,' Legolas replied, not fully turning from the fire.

'Convey to him my heartfelt farewell, and to Thorin King as well.'

'Will you not greet the King yourself?'

'I think it best to take him at his word,' Truva said, shouldering her pack. 'He said he wished me gone from his presence, and I shudder to think how irreparably I might damage any chance of building any alliance between the Riddermark and Erebor should I disregard his command.'

Legolas faced her squarely then, his typically impassive face speaking volumes in a language she did not understand. Yet all he said was, 'Go safely, shieldmaiden.'

With a final nod, Truva exited into the corridor beyond and descended through the lifts. Only the earliest of risers bumbled about in the dim lamplight: bakers and farmers, watchmen and Guards of the Gate. None regarded Truva with any hint of geniality; they glowered at her as she made her way through the atrium, emerged from the tremendous entryway of Erebor, and descended to its docks.

Stowadores and fishermen alike eyed her with disfavour as they organised tack and folded nets beneath the grey haze of early dawn. Truva strove to ignore their whispers as she unmoored the Raft-elves' canoe and cast off, thankful that the current was strong at the head of River Running; it bore her swiftly hence from the Dwarves' domain and the disappointment she had suffered in the Halls of Thorin King.

By the time she came upon Dale, the light of dawn tinged the battlements' stone pinks and purples, and the city had begun to hum gently with morning activity. But its residents were sleepy still; there were no shouts as before, and certainly no envoy to greet Truva – although those few citizens who recognized her waved lethargically in quiet greeting. Otherwise, it was guards alone who marked her passage.

Once beyond the city, Truva dug her paddle into the current, and relished in the invigorating cool air as it passed through her chest. Soon she found herself at the mouth of Celduin, the far shores of Long Lake beyond sight in spite of the clear weather. There would be no reaching the river's southern continuation that day, it seemed, though she would in all likelihood gain Lake-town well before dark.

In spite of her desire to place as much distance between herself and Thorin King's fury as possible, the small settlement of pile dwellings seemed a fair place to pass the night. Perhaps she would succeed in Esgaroth where she had failed in Erebor, and establish rapport with the Lake-men; it would not do to have two major realms of the north at odds with the Riddermark, as it was.

With this destination in mind, Truva struck out in earnest, though it took her somewhat longer than expected to traverse the northern reaches of Long Lake. The gloam of evening was beginning to descend when Esgaroth rose up before her. Walls running the full length and breadth of the town had been constructed in recent days; where once the Lake-men had passed freely between the settlement's crisscross of byways and the lake itself, sturdy portcullises now spanned all entrances – save that facing westward, where the bridge connected Esgaroth to the shore.

But it was the northern entrance's defences where a large contingent of guards now converged, having spied an unanticipated vessel bearing an unfamiliar passenger. They observed Truva's approach with ambivalence, preparing to lower the portcullis at the slightest hint of conflict, before one cried suddenly to his companions, 'Oi, ain't that the lass what went north with Gimli and the Elf?'

'Oh, aye,' said another. 'But where are the other two?'

'They linger still amongst the Dwarves beneath the Lonely Mountain,' Truva called in response, though the guards clearly talked amongst themselves and did not address her. 'But I have other business, and journey now to the south. Would you be so kind as to grant a weary traveller lodging and a simple meal?'

'You do not look so weary to me,' grumbled the first guard, waving Truva through the gateway. When she drew alongside the wharf and made as if to disembark, however, the second guard immediately raised his hand to stop her.

'No, milady, orders are to escort you to the Great Hall,' he said. 'The Master and Council expressed a desire to speak with any of your party, should you happen to pass through Lake-town.'

Already another guard had materialised in his own dinghy to guide Truva. Beyond the gate, houses of all shapes and sizes perched precariously upon wooden legs, or floated on the water itself, tethered to the piles with great iron bands, rising and falling with the lake's gentle swell. A few residences sported narrow docks, yet most were a simple flat facade, their boats moored to poles jutting from kitchen windows or door sills.

When her guide paddled around a corner, the height of buildings grew more uniform, and an arch connected the roofs overhead to create a tunnel above the waterway. They travelled along this until the channel opened onto an immense circular pool. Long low boats drifted about the circumference, bearing all manner of produce and wares: a veritable floating market. Yet even now the greengrocers and poulterers and tradesmen spread cloths over their goods and guided their skiffs into lantern-illuminated byways, for already the sky threatened full night.

Upon the eastern side of the market, lake waves lapped at the wide pier of a magnificent building. Tall pillars protruded from below to support a balcony high above the waterline, where a sweeping staircase led to a series of arched doorways. Wrapped about the entirety of the second floor was a balcony and its iron-wrought balustrade, and elegant cupolas protruded from the hall's steep, sloping thatch roof.

When Truva and her guide drew near, a heavy guard contingent snapped to attention and saluted with a fist to their breast, as one.

'The Great Hall,' explained the guide, stepping onto the dock. But before Truva could so much as make the motions to moor her own canoe, he leapt forward and seized the rope. 'Please, allow me. I would not keep the Council waiting.'

Truva stepped onto the walkway and, flanked by two guards, ascended the steps to the hall doors. Their heavy ash was reinforced with mithril lattice, and an ornate carving of a dragon slunk a curving path from corner to corner, its eyes glittering ruby.

The guards threw aside each half of the double doors as though Truva were some dignitary far beyond her true station. The hum of conversation within cut off sharply as a score of figures, all seated about a semicircle of dining tables, turned to stare. Then, from her place at the head of the centremost table, a wizened figure rose. Her back was bent with age, hair an even balance of black and white, yet her presence was assured and commanding. Nestled amidst the thick furs of her robe was a silver medallion, emblazoned with the same dragon as upon the Hall doors: the symbol of Lake-town's Master.

'So you have come,' said the old woman. Though her voice creaked as she spoke, it carried across the hall to strike Truva with unexpected power. 'I feared you would pass us by and not grant us the pleasure of your company, or the opportunity to learn of your ventures in the south.'

'Master,' said Truva, bowing deeply. 'It would speak ill of my manners – and the gratitude of my King and people – if I were to bypass those who defended these northern lands from the threats of Rohan's enemies. Please accept my humble greeting, and freely ask all that you would like to know of my homeland and the events that occurred there.'

'I have every intention of doing so,' said the Master with a glisten in her eyes. 'But seeing the hour, I imagine you have not yet eaten. Come, let us save such talk for after you have had your fill. Sit at my table, and sup upon my food – I would not see a guest of Lake-town want, if it could be avoided.'

The Master gestured for Truva to take a place beside her, where already another figure of immense significance sat: the King of Dale.

'So we meet again, Marshal,' said he, standing at once to hold Truva's chair for her.

'Thank you,' she replied, though she sat down rather gingerly, unaccustomed to such excessive politeness.

'Bard was brought here on business regarding a dispute between the Raft-elves over fishing waters,' the Master explained as a soup of burbot and shellfish appeared in front of all those gathered.

'However unwittingly, it is my good fortune to find myself in your presence once more,' said the King, an affable smile upon his lips and sharp features pleasantly balanced with his gentleness of voice. 'I would have been tremendously disappointed had you slipped by Dale unnoticed and without greeting.'

'We are all so terribly curious about events on the southern front during the War,' said the Master. 'Is it true a shieldmaiden of Rohan slayed the Witch-King?'

'And a fellbeast, in addition,' Truva said, yet even as she spoke, the Master's attention was drawn away by a particularly insistent counsellor who was more concerned about fishing grounds than bygone military campaigns. 'Though it would not do to dismiss the heroic contributions of one very small Halfling,' Truva murmured to herself.

'You don't say!' exclaimed the King, his attention wholly upon Truva. 'A Hobbit! It is said one passed through these parts in the days of my grandfather's father – and though he brought great terrors down upon us, he also brought prosperity.'

'They are fickle creatures, it is true.'

'How did this Hobbit come amongst your number? And what of the rest of your army? In what manner is it structured?' asked the King, showering Truva with a cascade of questions. She answered each in turn – thoroughly when she could, and vaguely when she felt it wise to be circumspect. Any mention of her origin or the conflict with the Dwarves she was most careful to avoid, for she knew not where the King of Dale's alliances lay, nor how aware he was of the issue.

Every answer of Truva's was soon followed by another question, and then another, but when the King noted Truva had not eaten much of her meal – busy as she was with sating his curiosity – he considerately altered course, and spoke instead of his own realm and its rapid development, or the Easterlings' assault upon the city of Dale, or the legends surrounding the dragon Smaug that had once terrorised the area.

As the conversation swayed between Truva and the King, other councillors lent an ear on occasion, though none were so interested or intent as he; they had had their fill of war, and cared little for distant lands they determined could not possibly have any impact on their own dealings. Thus the Lake-men swiftly turned their attention elsewhere, or pulled pipes from pouches, or retired to their residences.

When the night grew deep, no others save the Master and her advisor – still locked in mild-mannered debate – lingered in the Hall. The fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, and the gentle lap of waves against pilings could be heard in the quietude. Then the Master rose quite suddenly.

'You must think me unforgivably rude for not having devoted my attentions to so significant a guest,' she said to Truva. 'But unfortunately, some conflicts cannot be set aside. Will you not stay a while yet, that I might be granted the opportunity to demonstrate Esgaroth's hospitality myself?'

'As deeply as I desire to accept your offer, I'm afraid I must depart in the morning,' replied Truva. Thorin King's fury still resided in the back of her mind, and her urgency to begone from the region was acute.

'Ah, well, in fairness I do not believe this matter of fishing grounds will be resolved so soon, and I am called upon to visit the Elves myself,' sighed the Master. 'I shall have to rely on Bard to convey all that he has learned to me.'

'He has been a most excellent host,' said Truva, and both Master and King smiled at these words.

'Do not let it be long ere you return to our humble town,' said the Master. 'But for now, I must retire; I am not so young anymore, and my bones ache in this unshakable spring chill. I regret to say we have no fine accommodations prepared for so notable a guest, but the inn is never lacking in comfort or cheer. I will show you the way.'

'Please, allow me,' said the King, stepping forward. 'Go to your rest, for it is well-deserved. I will escort the Marshal.'

'Thank you kindly, Bard,' said the Master, gratefully patting his shoulder. 'Who am I to argue with a King, when he speaks words I wish to hear?' She then crossed the hall and threw the heavy doors aside with surprising strength for one so wizened and complaining of aching joints. 'Good night, Marshal.'

'Good night,' Truva replied. She and King Bard descended the front steps of the Great Hall to the pier, where the Master leapt sprightly onto a raft which lay in wait, and paddled off on her own. The echoes of her guards' protestations could still be heard as Truva stepped towards her own vessel, only to find the King's hand on her arm. He very quickly retracted it.

'Perhaps we might go the long way?' he suggested quietly. 'There is a great deal more of Esgaroth to be seen than is visible from its watery byways.'

'I would very much like that,' said Truva, genuinely intrigued by the town and its peculiar structure.

Turning from the pier, King Bard circled around to the side of the Great Hall, where a graceful bridge arced to a neighbouring building. Truva peered from house to house in awe, for each of the surrounding structures was successively more ornate, their eaves boasting winged corners and elaborate carvings, their walls plated with precious metals from the mines of Erebor.

In spite of his earlier loquacity, the King now seemed reluctant to speak. Silence bound the pair as they passed along boardwalks and over bridges, winding between residences, shops, and guilds. The extravagant residences of Lake-town's councillors were gradually replaced with more ordinary buildings; thatching became more prevalent than metal roof tiles, walls had been whitewashed less recently, fewer windows gleamed in the lamplight.

After a while, they emerged upon the eastern edge of Esgaroth, where the defensive wall had not yet been fully reconstructed. Here, the promenade looked out onto the calm water and distant shores of Long Lake unobstructed. The King continued to walk a short distance before stopping quite abruptly. When he turned and leaned his elbows upon the railing, Truva joined him, breathing in the invigorating night air and gazing off towards the tiny lights of settlements in the distance, like fireflies aligned upon the water's surface.

'I must have terrified you earlier with my unending questions,' said the King quite suddenly. He gave a short laugh and ducked his head, and Truva saw then how boyish and young he was. A gentle wind rustled silken, sable locks unfettered by the crown he did not wear.

'I was likewise unstinting in my curiosity,' she reassured him. 'There is no need for apology.'

The King heaved a deep sigh. His eyes lingered upon a cluster of old pilings that still protruded from the lake, waves gently lifting the vegetation that clung to the wood with every swell.

'If I might be honest with you, Marshal,' said he, 'it is not long since Dale came under the guidance of any King at all, and not even a year has elapsed since my own coronation. My father – a wise and beloved leader – fell defending Dale, and thus the knowledge he would have otherwise imparted to me over the years was also cut down. I am determined to learn all that I might from external sources, so that my people do not suffer at my hand.'

'Your highness—'

'Bard, please,' insisted the King, his voice low, turning suddenly to fix her with a soft gaze. 'One of your station need not resort to such honorifics.'

'No Man can rule alone,' said Truva, her failure to address him by his name intentional. 'Even the greatest of kings surround themselves with those more knowledgeable in every area – agriculture, military, or otherwise. Seek the advice of those around you, and the desire for your realm to prosper will not go unrealized.'

'Do you perhaps include the Dwarves in such a circle?' he asked. When Truva turned to stare, he continued, 'I have heard the stories of your origin, brought to me by my captains upon journeying to Minas Tirith and bearing witness to King Aragorn's ascendance. In truth, I had hoped you might see fit to help us in this matter.'

'And what matter is that?' Truva asked, her tone hedged. Erebor was Dale's direct neighbour; it was only natural they would be allied. Had King Bard sought her out at Thorin's behest, with the hope of persuading her to abandon her pursuit of the Iron Hill Dwarves? Was he the water to Thorin's fire? Did she face further banishment?

'Even before you came amidst the Rohirrim, you hailed from the Hidden Lands, did you not?' said the King. 'Rumour suggests you were one of the children stolen from your homeland to fight in that bleak realm.'

All evening Truva had avoided this very same topic, and yet the King now broached it unprompted. He stood before her, peering into her face and awaiting her answer, yet all Truva could think of was how ill-fated this venture had become – how she desperately wished to be back in Edoras or Aldburg, with no greater problem than the training of new recruits or the preparation for spring harvest on her mind.

'Yes,' she answered eventually, exhaling sharply. 'It was long before my own memory, but that was the history I was told, and often witnessed myself in the following years.'

'And you believe it to be the work of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills.'

Truva's eyes bored into the King. His expression was impassive, failing to reveal a single inclination as to his thoughts.

'I know it to be so,' she stated at last.

The King took in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, tension etching pain upon his face, his shoulders slumping. 'And so is it within Dale.'

Truva scrutinised this transformation of expression and posture in fascination. His purpose in questioning her became clearer now – a purpose in line, perhaps, with her own. 'You yourself have experience of such things?' she whispered, near breathless.

'It was not so often as to be noticeable or predictable, and the frequency has diminished in recent years,' Bard explained, 'but I know it to be true that children of Dale have been snatched from their homes or when at play and taken Westward. My grandfather, Bain, brought it to the attention of Dáin Ironfoot, who was King under the Mountain in those days, and a terrible quarrel arose between them.

'For years, relations between our two lands chilled – although they were never outright unfriendly – yet Bain feared for the prosperity of Dale without the Dwarves' support, and so allowed the matter to pass further unremarked. I had hoped that with the passing of Dáin, and the addition of your own influence, we might prompt King Thorin to at last see reason.'

'I must convey unfortunate news in that regard,' said Truva, suppressing a heavy frown. 'It was due to broaching that very topic that I was expelled from the Dwarven kingdom only yesterday eve. Thorin King will not hear an ill word spoken against his kin; not even the witness of the Wood-elves, nor the Beornings' investigations, nor my own experiences could convince him that he lords over those who commit misdeeds.'

'Is it so hopeless?' sighed the King.

'It would seem so,' said Truva, joining him with her own sigh. 'Yet I travel south even now, to see what might be discovered of my parentage. Perhaps what I find will bring success where all else has failed.'

Bard pursed his lips. His eyes were still upon her, but they held a distant look, as though he did not truly see her. 'Have you so great a need to leave?' he said, his voice scarcely a murmur.

'Beg pardon?'

'Will you not stay in Dale?' he pressed. 'As you see, I cannot turn to the Dwarves, and while the Master of Lake-town is wise, her experience is limited to the social governance of a small municipality. I have no brothers or sisters, and many of my father's advisors fell at his side, defending our city during the War. Will you not remain as my councillor? Your knowledge surely surpasses that of any in my Halls.'

'You wish to steal me away from Éomer King!' said Truva with an incredulous laugh, yet Bard's expression only grew more resolute.

'The lands of Dale are flourishing, and I can provide you with nearly anything you desire,' he said. While such words would sound boastful from any other man, there was nothing save desperation emanating from the young king. 'To be quite frank, I have never met a more remarkable woman – or indeed, a more remarkable person of any birth. You would make a magnificent commander of the Barding army; together, we could ensure Dale does not fall prey to my inexperience, or the evildoings of our enemies.'

'Military campaigns are in no way comparable to the governing of a nation, milord—'

'Bard.'

'—and while I have entirely no knowledge of the latter, my experience is limited even with regard to the former,' said Truva. 'Éomer King is likewise young, thrust into his duties by the death of his father in the War; I cannot abandon him now. I will do all within my power to bring about a resolution to the conflict between the northern realms and the Iron Hill Dwarves, but I cannot promise anything more.'

Bard's eyes fell to the boardwalk beneath their feet, though a smile still played upon his lips. 'It is as I suspected: you are far too loyal and good to abandon your duties. I am left with no option but to admire your steadfastness, and envy your dedication to King Éomer.'

'Dale and its hardships will linger in my mind,' Truva conceded. 'I will not cast the thought of you entirely aside in favour of my own personal objectives. I know not when, but I will return to these lands, Bard, even if I do not come bearing happy news.'

Just as her failure to use the King's name earlier had not been unintentional, Truva's use of his name now was an explicit choice. Bard's eyes snapped up to meet hers, and between them passed a promise – to meet again, to share burdens, to bring their lands together in harmony, if nothing else.

'I thank you for your heartwarming words.'

Bard raised his arm up as if to clasp Truva upon the shoulder, and she did likewise, yet suddenly she found herself in his embrace, the scent of lilac wafting from his dark locks. Her arms hung in midair for a moment, hesitant, until at last she wrapped them loosely about his stout back. In his greatest hour of need, the man had lost his closest of kin and all those he relied on most heavily to guide him. Sympathy was the smallest comfort she could afford him.

At long last Bard drew away, but only slightly, and for a fleeting moment he was but a hair's breadth away, the light brown of his eyes boring into Truva's heart. Yet he pulled further back and linked Truva's arm in his own.

'We have arrived at your destination,' he said, turning her about.

Behind them stood an unassuming building with a façade that was entirely blank save a single, simple door at its corner. Towards this Bard moved, opening it quietly and slipping inside. The door led to a wooden hallway, off of which the sounds of bustle and clang indicated another led to a kitchen. Bard passed this second door by and emerged into a well-lit common room with tables and overstuffed chairs all about, and a roaring fire in the hearth. There was an innkeeper's counter also, which the pair strangely found themselves behind, rather than in front of.

'Hullo, Bard!' came a cry. A tall, skinny man garbed in a filthy apron emerged from around a corner. 'What is it that brings you to the inn – and through the back door, no less?'

'See, even the innkeeper calls me by my name,' Bard whispered to Truva. Before she could reply, he stepped towards the innkeeper and said, 'The Marshal of the East-mark of Rohan, come all the way from the lands of the horse-lords, begs lodging at the Flying Fish.'

'A room?' said the innkeeper, and something in his tone gave Truva pause. 'On this night when news of an Elf entering the Lonely Mountain extends to the furthest reaches of the kingdom? I'm terribly sorry, milord, but we are full to capacity, and I cannot rightfully turn out paying customers – not even in favour of the King's guests.'

'As it should be, as it should be,' said the King, a strange smile playing upon his features. 'How very proper of you. Now, might you direct us to an inn with vacancies?'

'I am afraid there are none, milord,' said the innkeeper. 'Not since Master Gimli's first return after the War have I seen such activity in Lake-town. If you desire a meal, I would be more than happy to provide it; but if it is accommodation you seek, I cannot help you.'

'We have supped already, thank you,' said Bard, then mused to himself: 'I suppose there is no alternative.'

'Alternative?' Truva questioned, but already the King was stalking out the front door and along a series of boardwalks. At first they traced back the way they had come – Truva hastening her steps to keep up with Bard's long strides – and soon they arrived before the Great Hall again. But Bard did not stop, and continued walking until they came upon the northern sector of Lake-town, where stood a resplendent palace.

It was not mithril that adorned its balustrades and balcony, but gold and gems; roof and walls and windows all glimmered even in the wan moonlight. But the King ascended the staircase without so much as a glance, as though he had no consideration for such opulence. When Truva lingered upon the wharf, he paused on the penultimate step and turned.

'These are the personal accommodations of the King of Dale,' he said. 'They are exceedingly lavish, even for my tastes, yet I will see to it that you find appropriate lodging this night, even if it be my own.'

'To sleep in a canoe is not so uncomfortable,' Truva suggested, eyeing the opulent building and its flank of guards with trepidation. 'It rocks one to sleep like a baby upon the waves. Or I can cross to the shore and pitch a shelter.'

'Sleep in a canoe, in the very midst of a village!' Bard gave a short laugh. 'I will not hear of it!'

He descended the steps and extended his hand to her. Step by step, they ascended to the palace's balcony and entered through its doors. Already a fire had been lit in anticipation of the King's arrival, and sliced fruit as well as a decanter of wine lay upon a low table before the hearth.

'A nightcap, perhaps?' Bard suggested.

Truva hesitated, her eyes flickering between the King, the food, and the soft furs that lined the floor about the table. She was terribly exhausted, having travelled far that day, but was loath to risk offending an ally she most desperately needed.

'Very well,' she said at last.

And so the King and Marshal took seats on opposing sides of the table. Truva reached at once for the decanter to fill Bard's goblet, though he did not drink, and rather turned once more to matters of politic:

'So tell me of these Hidlands, and what might have become of babes snatched from the lands of Dale,' he said, filling Truva's own goblet. 'I wish to know everything – especially that which might convince King Thorin to see reason.'

Freed of her concern for Bard's association with the Dwarves, Truva at last felt comfortable narrating her experiences in more detail, and spoke at length about her early life, and what she had come to learn since. Though he was more like to make inquiries than statements, Bard in turn revealed a great deal about himself and all that had come to pass in Dale. Thus both wine and fruit proved to be little more than something to busy their hands with as they conversed into the wee hours of the morning.

Truva knew not how it came to be, but she awoke to the grey light of early dawn filtering through the high, narrow windows of the palace. She lay before the hearth, thick furs wrapped about her, yet King Bard sat upon the opposite side of the room, having propped himself up in a chair. His breathing was slow and steady – still in the clutches of sleep; the awkward turn of his neck sent his long hair cascading across pale cheekbones like the Gûlduin across white marble rocks.

As Truva observed him, his sable eyelashes fluttered, hinting at wakefulness. Moving with especial care so as not to disturb him, she rose, slipped out through the palace doors, and strode along the boardwalk in the direction of the market. Already a small number of merchants had gathered in preparation for the day's activities, throwing off the covers of their wares or chatting with their neighbours, though Truva's only concern lay with the Raft-Elves' canoe.

She found it berthed precisely where she had disembarked the previous evening, yet even as she made to cast off, the mooring rope was caught by long, spindly fingers. King Bard gazed down upon her from the dock.

'You would leave without so much as a goodbye?' he accused.

'You were asleep,' Truva answered with all the pragmatism she could muster.

'It is true I have not slept so soundly in quite some time,' said Bard, releasing the mooring rope as a ripple of melancholy purled across his face. 'But even so, I am not blessed with undisturbed repose.'

'I hope the coming days bring you more restful nights.'

The King then crouched low upon the dock, his eyes even with hers. 'I am certain they would, were you by my side.'

Truva's breath caught painfully in her chest at the King's renewed request. It would not be right to call him a pitiable figure, for he was too proud and resolute; and yet his plight engendered sympathy in her, for had he not lost those he most dearly loved in the War, as she had? Just like she, King Bard now struggled to assume the weighty burden of responsibility – but where Truva was blessed with the guidance of many about her, Bard was alone.

'I think it shall be quite some time ere any of us find ourselves sleeping peacefully from dusk until dawn,' she murmured.

'Perhaps.' Bard ducked his head in resignation. 'I hope you do not resent me for wishing my rest came sooner rather than later.'

'If reassurance that the Riddermark allies itself with the Kingdom of Dale brings you any peace, you may return to your bed even now,' said Truva, casting off. 'Know this also: that should all else fail, I will return, and aid you in resolving the conflict with the Iron Hills Dwarves.'

'The thought of confronting King Thorin and his kin brings me no joy, but my displeasure is tempered by the notion of your coming again into these lands.'

Truva trained her eyes on the paddle in her hand, the tiny statues lining the spine of the Great Hall's roof, a woman arranging beetroots in her floating stall – anywhere save upon the King. 'I will strive to hasten that day. In the meantime, please convey my regards to the Master.'

'As a matter of course,' said the King. 'Fare thee well, fair Marshal of the Mark. May you find what you seek.'

With that, Truva drifted out across the market and bore down upon the canal opposite of that by which she had come, slipping past approaching tradesmen. She glanced back but once, only to discover Bard was already gone – yet when she emerged from the far end of the tunnel, she understood why: there stood the King, his figure striking amongst the tumult of Lake-men who crowded the city's southern defences, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famed Marshal of Rohan. He did not wave or cheer as the others did, but gave an assuring nod when Truva drew abreast of the palisade.

Once beyond the main gates of Esgaroth, she struck out across the open expanse of Long Lake, making for the southerly mouth of River Running. Bard's attentions had only left her more desperate for Aragorn's embrace, for his stout, reassuring spirit, his unwavering tranquillity and indefatigable dedication. She dug her paddle into the water, propelling herself forward with every ounce of strength so that she might return to him all the sooner.