The Shadow Walker

68. Wargs Make Bad Pets.

The day passed very slowly. My ribs throbbed sharply with every step Hasufel took, and the dust kicked up by the massive procession made it immensely difficult and painful for me to breathe. Still, I fared better than many on foot.

We stopped at sundown, and I gratefully dropped from the saddle and into Aragorn's waiting arms, letting him set me on my feet.

"Go talk to Legolas," he murmured, nodding across the milling people to where Legolas was laying out his bedroll between two boulders.

Yeah, like that was gonna happen. Shrugging, I said, "If he wants to talk to me, he can come and talk to me."

I started to walk away, but Aragorn gently caught my elbow. I reluctantly met his gaze, and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Pride is a poor companion." Straightening, he flashed me an affectionate grin and patted me on the shoulder. Then he began to unsaddle Hasufel.

As if that would change my mind.

I scanned the ragged bunch of Rohirrim, all settling down for the night. Boromir wasn't far away, still with the family he'd spent the day with, and at the moment he was chatting with the boy, whose age I estimated at about thirteen or fourteen. The boy watched Boromir's vague hand motions with something like hero worship, while a young woman a few years older prepared a simple meal, watching Boromir with a wary fascination. Already, their mother slept on a blanket, her baby tucked in at her side.

I felt someone's gaze, like a chilling caress on the side of my face. Without meaning to, I turned to meet those blue eyes across the camp. We locked stares for a moment, and a shiver of longing ran down my spine. But Legolas broke off his stare, kneeling onto his bedroll and taking off his boots, then laying aside his various weapons. Refusing to look at me again, he lay down and covered himself with his cloak.

Well. If that's how he wanted to play.

I walked over to where Boromir sat. He looked up curiously, along with his young friend. Smiling in what I hope was a friendly manner, I said, "Hey Boromir. Who is this?"

He glanced at his friends, then said, "Eda, this is Èolir," he motioned to the boy, "and Kèolyn." He motioned to the girl.

I waved, attempting—truly attempting—to be pleasant. "Hi."

Gimli's gruff, animated voice approached. "...and that's why it's so extremely valuable. Besides, of course, the fact that it is light as an eagle's feather, and hard as the scales of a dragon."

I turned, finding Gimli laying out his bedroll next to Aragorn's, chattering to a too-patient Lady Èowyn. Lady Èowyn, however, had eyes only for a certain ranger who happened to be kicking off his shoes and stretching out for the night. Luckily Gimli didn't notice. Aragorn did, though, and flashed Èowyn a brief, hesitant smile of acknowledgement.

And that was my cue to rescue the poor Man.

Waving goodbye to Boromir and Friends, I headed toward the disaster scene.

Gimli opened his mouth to keep talking, but I interrupted, thus saving the sanity of all those in hearing range. "Gimli, are you talking about Mithril again?"

He turned and beamed at me. "Why, yes lassie! Would ye care to listen?"

"No, Gimli," I said gently. "I need to get some sleep, and I'm sure Lady Èowyn does, as well."

"Oh," Gimli replied, his features sinking. "Of course."

"I should very much like to hear more tomorrow," Èowyn said quickly, smiling at Gimli.